Ef)GEVvrOODE.DIT!ON: 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


• 


s-  xi 


THE  YOUNG  BRIDE. 


THE 


WEDDING   GUEST: 


OF  THE 


BRIDE  AND  BRIDEGROOM. 


EDITED  BF 

T.     S.     ARTHUR. 


'  PHILADELPHIA: 

HUBBARD  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS, 
1888. 


Copyrighted  by 
HUBBARD  BROTHERS. 

1888. 


PREFACE. 


THERE  is  no  relation  in  life  so  important — none 
involving  so  much  of  happiness  or  misery,  as  that 
of  husband  and  wife.  Yet,  how  rarely  is  it,  that 
the  parties  when  contracting  this  relation,  have 
large  experience,  clear  insight  into  character, 
or  truly  know  themselves !  In  each  other, 
they  may  have  the  tenderest  confidence,  and 
for  each  other  the  warmest  love;  but,  only  a 
brief  time  can  pass  ere  they  will  discover  that 
the*  harmonious  progression  of  two  minds,  each 
of  which  has  gained  an  individual  and  independ 
ent  movement,  is  not  always  a  thing  of  easy 
attainment.  Too  soon,  alas !  is  felt  a  jar  of  dis 
cord — too  soon  self-will  claims  an  individual 
freedom  of  action  that  is  not  fully  accorded  ;  and 

916 


IV  PREFACE. 

unless  there  is  wisdom  and  forbearance,  tempo 
rary  or  permanent  unhappiness  is  sure  to  follow. 
Much  has  been  written  on  the  true  relation  of 
married  partners,  and  we  cannot  do  a  better 
service  to  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  than  by 
gathering  words  of  wisdom  on  this  subject  from 
all  sources  within  our  reach,  and  presenting  them 
in  as  attractive  a  form  as  possible.  And  this  we 
have  done  in  the  present  volume,  to  which,  as 
the  title-page  indicates,  we  bear  only  the  relation 
of  editor.  In  it  will  be  found  pictures  of  life, 
serious  counsel,  earnest  admonition,  and  hints 
and  suggestions,  which,  if  wisely  followed,  will 
keep  the  sky  bright  with  sunshine,  or  scatter  the 
gathering  clouds  ere  they  break  in  angry  storms. 
May  this  "  WEDDING  GUEST"  receive  as  warm  a 
welcome  as  we  desire. 


CONTENTS. 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  MARRIAGE     .....          Pago  7 

TUK  AVlFE          .  .  .  .      ' 14 

MARRIAGE ...80 

THE  BRIDE'S  SISTER 84 

LOVE  vs.  HEALTH            ........  85 

THE  YOUNG  HOUSEKEEPER 45 

To  AN  ABSENT  WIFE 67 

THE  WORD  OF  PRAISE     .        .        .        .       «.        .        .        .  68 

LETTERS  TO  A  YOCNQ  WIFE  FROM  A  MARRIED  LADT          .        .  71 

THE  WIFE 82 

BE  GENTLE  WITH  THY  WIFE 83 

A  TRUE  TALE  OF  LIFE     ........  84 

MAN  AND  WOMAN            .        .        . 102 

THE  FAIRY  WIFE — AN  APOLOGCE 106 

A  BRIEF  HISTORY,  IN  THREE  PARTS,  WITH  A  SEQUEL        .         .  109 
ELMA'S  MISSION      .        .        .         .         .        .        .        .        .111 

LIVING  LIKE  A  LADY 123 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

LADY  LOOT'S  SECRET       .        .        ...        •        •  .133 

A  WORD  FOR  WIVES 144 

No  JEWELLED  BEAUTY 147 

THE  FIRST  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  FAMILY 148 

ONLY  A  FEW  WORDS 150 

THE  Two  HOMES 163 

LOVE'S  FAIRY  RING 170 

FANNIE'S  BRIDAL    . 172 

THE  LOVER  AND  THE  HUSBAND        .  /     .        •        •        .        .  182 

NELLIE            ..,..„                 ....  185 

A  HOME  IN  THJB  HEART            .        .                 ....  192 

A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JouHHAi     .    ,-  •    ;   ....  193 

TRIFLES          .        .        .         .        .      ';        ..       .        .        .  205 

DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS .  224 

A  SYLVAN  MORALITY  ;  OR,  A  WORD  TO  Wiv«8           ...  232 

PASSAGES  FROM  A  YOUNG  WIFE'S  DIART           ....  245 

HINTS  AND  HELPS  FOR  MARRIED  PARTNERS      ....  264 

THREE  WAYS  OF  MANAGING  A  Wm.         .        .        .        ,  286 


THE 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  MARRIAGE. 

"  WE  shall  certainly  be  very  happy  together !"  said 
Louise  to  her  aunt  on  the  evening  before  her  marriage, 
and  her  cheeks  glowed  with  a  deeper  red,  and  her  eyes 
shone  with  delight.  When  a  bride  says  we,  it  may 
easily  be  guessed  whom  of  all  persons  in  the  world  she 
means  thereby. 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,  dear  Louise,"  replied  her  aunt. 
"  See  only  that  you  continue  happy  together." 

"Oh,  who  can  doubt  that  we  shall  continue  so!  I 
know  myself.  I  have  faults,  indeed,  but  my  love  for  him 
will  correct  them.  And  so  long  as  we  love  each  other, 
we  cannot  be  unhappy.  Our  love  will  never  grow  old." 

"Alas!"  sighed  her  aunt,  "thou  dost  speak  like  a 
maiden  of  nineteen,  on  the  day  before  her  marriage,  in 

(7) 


8  THE  EVENING   BEFORE   MARRIAGE. 

the  intoxication  of  wishes  fulfilled,  of  fair  hopes  and 
happy  omens.  Dear  child,  remember  this — even  the 
heart  in  time  grows  cold.  Days  .will  come  when  the 
magic  of  the  senses  shall  fade.  And  when  this  enchant 
ment  has  fled,  then  it  first  becomes  evident  whether  we 
are  truly  worthy  of  love.  When  custom  has  made 
familiar  the  charms  that  are  most  attractive,  when  youth 
ful  freshness  has  died  away,  and  with  the  brightness  of 
domestic  life,  more  and  more  shadows  have  mingled, 
then,  Louise,  and  not  till  then,  can  the  wife  say  cf  the 
husband,  '  He  is  worthy  of  love ;'  then,  first,  the  husband 
say  of  the  wife,  '  She  blooms  in  imperishable  beauty." 
But,  truly,  on  the  day  before  marriage,  such  assertions 
sound  laughable  to  me." 

"  I  understand  you,  dear  aunt.  You  would  say  that 
our  mutual  virtues  alone  can  in  later  years  give  us  worth 
for  each  other.  But  is  not  he  to  whom  I  am  to  belong 
— for  of  myself  I  can  boast  nothing  but  the  best  intentions 
— is  he  not  the  worthiest,  noblest  of  all  the  young  men 
of  the  city  ?  Blooms  not  in  his  soul,  every  virtue  that 
tends  to  make  life  happy  ?" 

"  My  child,"  replied  her  aunt,  "  I  grant  it.  Virtues 
bloom  in  thee  as  well  as  in  him  ;  I  can  say  this  to  thee 
without  flattery.  But,  dear  heart,  they  bloom  only, 
and  are  not  yet  ripened  beneath  the  sun's  heat  and  the 
shower.  No  blossoms  deceive  the  expectations  more 
than  these.  We  can  never  tell  in  what  soil  they  have 
taken  root.  Who  knows  the  concealed  depths  of  the 
he#rt?" 

"  Ah,  dear  aunt,  you  really  frighten  me." 

"  So  much  the  better,  Louise.     Such  fear  is  right ; 


THE  EVENING  BEFORE  MARRIAGE.  9 

such  fear  is  as  it  should  be  on  the  evening  before  mar 
riage.  I  love  thee  tenderly,  and  will,  therefore,  declare 
all  my  thoughts  on  this  subject  without  disguise.  I  am 
not  as  yet  an  old  aunt.  At  seven-and-twenty  years,  one 
still  looks  forward  into  life  with  pleasure,  the  world  still 
presents  a  bright  side  to  us.  I  have  an  excellent  hus 
band.  I  am  happy.  Therefore,  I  have  the  right  to 
speak  thus  to  thee,  and  to  call  thy  attention  to  a  secret 
which  perhaps  thou  dost  not  yet  know,,  one  which  is  not 
often  spoken  of  to  a  young  and  pretty  maiden,  one,  in 
deed,  which  does  not  greatly  occupy  the  thoughts  of  a 
young  man,  and  still  is  of  the  utmost  importance  in  every 
household :  a  secret  from  which  alone  spring  lasting  love 
and  unalterable  happiness." 

Louise  seized  the  hand  of  her  aunt  in  both  of  hers. 
"  Dear  aunt !  you  know  I  believe  you  in  everything. 
You  mean,  that  enduring  happiness  and  lasting  love  are 
not  insured  to  us  by  accidental  qualities,  by  fleeting 
charms,  but  only  by  those  virtues  of  the  mind  which  we 
bring  to  each  other.  These  are  the  best  dowry  which 
we  can  possess;  these  never  become  old." 

"  As  it  happens,  Louise.  The  virtues  also,  like  the 
beauties  of  the  body,  can  grow  old,  and  become  repulsive 
and  hateful  with  age." 

"  How,  dearest  aunt !  what  is  it  you  say  ?  Name  to 
me  a  virtue  which  can  become  hateful  with  years." 

"  When  they  have  become  so,  we  no  longer  call  them 
virtues,  as  a  beautiful  maiden  can  no  longer  be  called 
beautiful,  when  time  has  changed  her  to  an  old  and 
wrinkled  woman." 

"  But,  aunt,  the  virtues  are  nothing  earthly." 


10  THE   EVENING   BEFORE   MARRIAGE. 

"  Perhaps." 

"  How  can  gentleness  and  mildness  ever  become  hate 
ful  ?" 

"  So  soon  as  they  degenerate  into  insipid  indolence 
and  listlessness." 

"  And  manly  courage?" 

"  Becomes  imperious  rudeness." 

"  And  modest  diffidence?" 

"  Turns  to  fawning  humility." 

"And  noble  pride?" 

"  To -vulgar  haughtiness." 

"  And  readiness  to  oblige  ?" 

"  Becomes  a  habit  of  too  ready  friendship  and  servi- 
lity." 

"  Dear  aunt,  you  make  me  almost  angry.  My  future 
husband  can  never  degenerate  thus.  He  has  one  virtue 
which  will  preserve  him  as  he  is  for  ever.  A  deep  sense, 
an  indestructible  feeling  for  everything  that  is  great  and 
good  and  noble,  dwells  in  his  bosom.  And  this  delicate 
susceptibility  to  all  that  is  noble  dwells  in  me  also,  I 
hope,  as  well  as  in  him.  This  is  the  innate  pledge  and 
security  for  our  happiness." 

"  But  if  it  should  grow  old  with  you ;  if  it  should 
change  to  hateful  excitability  ;  and  excitability  is  the 
worst  enemy  of  matrimony.  You  both  possess  sensibi 
lity.  That  I  do  not  deny ;  but  beware  lest  this  grac* 
should  degenerate  into  an  irritable  and  quarrelsome 
mortal." 

"  Ah,  dearest  aunt,  if  I  might  never  become  old  !  I 
could  then  be  sure  that  my  husband  would  never  cease  to 
love  me." 


THE   EVENING    BEFORE   MARRIAGE.  11 

*'  Thou  art  greatly  in  error,  dear  child  !  Wert  thou 
always  as  fresh  and  beautiful  as  to-day,  still  thy  hus 
band's  eye  would  by  custom  of  years  become  indifferent 
to  these  advantages.  Custom  is  the  greatest  enchantress 
in  the  world,  and  in  the  house  one  of  the  most  benevo 
lent  of  fairies.  She  renders  that  which  is  the  most 
beautiful,  as  well  as  the  ugliest,  familiar.  A  wife  is 
young,  and  becomes  old  ;  it  is  custom  which  hinders  the 
husband  from  perceiving  the  change.  On  the  contrary, 
did  she  remain  young,  while  he  became  old,  it  might 
bring  consequences,  and  render  the  man  in  years  jealous. 
It  is  better  as  kind  Providence  has  ordered  it.  Imagine 
that  thou  hadst  grown  to  be  an  old  woman,  and  thy  hus 
band  were  a  blooming  youth ;  how  wouldst  thou  then 
feel  ?" 

Louise  rubbed  her  chin,  and  said,  "I  cannot  tell." 

Her  aunt  continued :  "  But  I  will  call  thy  attention  to 
a  secret  which — " 

"  That  is  it,"  interrupted  Louise,  hastily,  "  that  is  it 
which  I  long  so  much  to  hear." 

Her  aunt  said :  "  Listen  to  me  attentively.  What  I 
now  tell  thee,  I  have  proved.  It  consists  of  two  parts. 
The  first  part,  of  the  means  to  render  a  marriage  happy, 
of  itself  prevents  every  possibility  of  dissension,  and 
would  even  at  last  make  the  spider  and  the  fly  the  best 
of  friends  with  each  other.  The  second  part  is  the  best 
and  surest  method  of  preserving  feminine  attractions." 

"  Ah  !"  exclaimed  Louise. 

"  The  former  half  of  the  means,  then :  In  the  first 
solitary  hour  after  the  ceremony,  take  thy  bridegroom, 
and  demand  a  solemn  vow  of  him,  and  give  him  a  solemn 


12  THE  EVENING   BEFORE   MARRIAGE. 

vow  in  return.  Promise  one  another  sacredly,  never, 
not  even  in  mere  jest,  to  wrangle  with  each  other  ;  never 
to  bandy  words  or  indulge  in  the  least  ill-humour.  Never  ! 
I  say  ;  never.  Wrangling,  even  in  jest,  and  putting  on 
an  air  of  ill-humour  merely  to  tease,  becomes  earnest  by 
practice.  Mark  that !  Next  promise  each  other,  sin 
cerely  and  solemnly,  never  to  have  a  secret  from  each 
other  under  whatever  pretext,  with  whatever  excuse  it 
may  be.  You  must,  continually  and  every  moment,  see 
clearly  into  each  other's  bosom.  Even  when  one  of  you 
has  committed  a  fault,  wait  not  an  instant,  but  confess 
it  freely — let  it  cost  tears,  but  confess  it.  And  as  you 
keep  nothing  secret  from  each  other,  so,  on  the  contrary, 
preserve  the  privacies  of  your  house,  marriage  state  and 
heart,  from  father,  mother,  sister,  brother,  aunt,  and  all 
the  world.  You  two,  with  God's  help,  build  your  own 
quiet  world.  Every  third  or  fourth  one  whom  you  draw 
into  it  with  you,  will  form  a  party,  and  stand  between 
you  two  !  That  should  never  be.  Promise  this  to  each 
other.  Renew  the  vow  at  each  temptation.  You  will 
find  your  account  in  it.  Your  souls  will  grow  as  it  were 
together,  and  at  last  will  become  as  one.  Ah,  if  many 
a  young  pair  had  on  their  wedding  day  known  this 
simple  secret,  and  straightway  practised  it,  how  many 
marriages  were  happier  than,  alas,  they  are  !" 

Louise  kissed  her  aunt's  hand  with  ardour.  "  1  feel 
that  it  must  be  so.  Where  this  confidence  is  absent,  the 
married,  even  after  wedlock,  are  two  strangers  who  do 
not  know  each  other.  It  should  be  so;  without  this, 
there  can  be  no  happiness.  And  now,  aunt,  the  best 
preservative  of  female  beauty  ?" 


THE   EVENING   BEFORE    MARRIAGE.  13 

Her  aunt  smiled,  and  said:  "We  may  not  conceal 
from  ourselves  that  a  handsome  man  pleases  us  a  hundred 
/imes  more  than  an  ill-looking  one,  and  the  men  are 
pleased  with  us  when  we  are  pretty.  But  what  we  call 
beautiful,  what  in  the  men  pleases  us,  and  in  us  pleasea 
the  men,  is  not  skin  and  hair,  and  shape  and  colour,  as 
in  a  picture  or  a  statue ;  but  it  is  the  character,  it  is  the 
BOU!  that  is  within  these,  which  enchants  us  by  looks  and 
words,  earnestness,  and  joy,  and  sorrow.  The  men 
admire  us  the  more  they  suppose  those  virtues  of  the 
mind  to  exist  in  us  which  the  outside  promises;  and  we 
think  a  malicious  man  disagreeable,  however  graceful 
and  handsome  he  may  be.  Let  a  young  maiden,  then, 
who  would  preserve  her  beauty,  preserve  but  that  purity 
of  soul,  those  sweet  qualities  of  the  mind,  those  virtues, 
in  short,  by  which  she  first  drew  her  lover  to  her  feet. 
And  the  best  preservative  of  virtue,  to  render  it  unchang 
ing  and  keep  it  ever  young,  is  religion,  that  inward 
union  with  the  Deity  and  eternity  and  faith — is  piety, 
that  walking  with  God,  so  pure,  so  peaceful,  so  beneficent 
to  mortals. 

"See,  dear  heart,"  continued  the  aunt,  "there  are 
virtues  which  arise  out  of  mere  experience.  These 
grow  old  with  time,  and  alter,  because,  by  change  of 
circumstances  and  inclination,  prudence  alters  her  means 
of  action,  and  because  her  growth  does  not  always  keep 
pace  with  that  of  our  years  and  passions.  But  religious 
virtues  can  never  change ;  these  remain  eternally  the 
same,  because  our  God  is  always  the  same,  and  that 
eternity  the  same,  which  we  and  those  who  love  us  are 
hastening  to  enter.  Preserve,  then,  a  mind  innocent 


14  THE  WIFE. 

and  pure,  looking  for  everything  from  God ;  thus  will 
that  beauty  of  soul  remain,  for  which  thy  bridegroom 
to-day  adores  thee.  I  am  no  bigot,  no  fanatic ;  I  am 
thy  aunt  of  seven-and-twenty.  I  love  all  innocent  and 
rational  amusements.  But  for  this  very  reason  I  say  to 
thee — be  a  dear,  good  Christian,  and  thou  wilt  as  ;i 
mother,  yes,  as  a  grandmother,  be  still  beautiful." 

Louise  threw  her  arms  .about  her  neck,  and  wept  in 
silence,  and  whispered,  "  I  thank  thee,  angel !" 


THE 

ROSA  LEE  was  dressed  in  her  bridal  garments,  and 
as  she  knelt  in  all  the  bloom  of  her  maidenly  beauty, 
angels  must  have  rejoiced  over  her ;  for  the  spirit  of  the 
maiden  was  in  a  heaven  of  love,  and  she  knelt  in  the 
fulness  of  her  joy,  to  pour  out  her  gratitude  to  the 
Heavenly  Father,  that  "  seeth  in  secret."  Yes,  alone 
in  her  chamber,  the  young  girl  bowed  herself  for  the  last 
time,  and  as  the  thought  flashed  over  her  mind,  that 
when  next  she  should  kneel  in  that  consecrated  place,  it 
would  not  be  alone,  but  that  manly  arms  would  bear  up 
her  drooping  form,  and  two  voices  would  mingle  as  one 
in  the  holy  prayer,  a  gushing  tenderness  flooded  the 
heart  of  the  beautiful  bride,  and  light  as  from  Heaven 
pervaded  her  whole  being,  and  she  could  only  murmur, 
*'  Oh,  how  beautiful  it  is  to  iove  !" 

But  bustling  stops  and  voices  approach;    and  Rosa 


THE   WIFE.  15 

hears  one  step  that  sends  a  thrill  to  her  heart.  In  the 
next  moment,  the  maiden  with  the  rosy  glow  of  love 
upon  her  cheek,  and  the  heaven-light  yet  beaming  in  her 
eyes,  stood  face  to  face  with  her  lover.  Her  eyes  met 
his,  in  that  calm,  confiding  look  of  an  unbounded 
affection,  and,  as  her  hand  rested  on  his  arm,  strength 
seemed  to  flow  into  her  from  him,  and  she  looked  serene 
and  placid  as  pure  water,  that  reflects  the  moonbeama 
of  heaven ;  and  yet,  her  smiles  came  and  went  like  these 
same  waters  when  the  ripples  sparkle  in  the  glad  sun 
shine. 

The  bridal  party  moved  forward  to  the  festive  hall, 
where  sympathizing  friends  were  gathered  to  greet  them, 
as  a  married  pair,  and  the  heart  of  Ilosa  opened  to  the 
holy  marriage  ceremony  with  a  sense  of  heavenly 
rapture. 

To  her  it  was  as  a  new  and  beautiful  revelation,  when 
she  heard  the  oft-repeated  words,  "  In  the  beginning 
created  He  them  male  and  female."  Ah,  yes.  It  wag 

'     mf 

beautiful  to  realize  that  she  was  created  for  her  beloved 
Paul,  and  that  in  all  the  vast  peopled  universe  of  God, 
there  was  not  another  being  so  adapted  to  him  as  she 
was. 

Ah,  this  was  the  beautiful  marriage  joy,  that  earth  so 
seldom  witnesses.  These  were  of  "those  whom  God 
hath  joined  together."  And  Paul  Cleves  felt  it  in  his 
inmost  soul,  as  he  turned  towards  his  congratulating 
friends  with  his  delicate  and  beautiful  bride  leaning  upon 
his  arm. 

Ah,  how  he  watched  every  vibration  of  her  feelings ' 
suddenly  she  had  become  the  pulse  of  his  own  souL  Ai 


16  THE   WIFE. 

a  maiden,  he  had  loved  her  with  a  wondrous  tenderness 
and  devotion.  But  now,  as  a  wife !  There  was  at  once 
a  new  and  quite  different  relation  established  between 
them. 

Paul  was  so  filled  with  this  new  perception  of  blessed 
ness,  that  he  would  fain  have  left  the  gay  company,  that 
he  might  pour  out  the  beautiful  thought  that  possessed 
him,  to  gladden  the  heart  of  Rosa ;  and  when  he  looked 
his  wish  to  her,  she  smiled,  and  whispered  to  him, 
*'  Eternity  is  ours,  and  we  are  not  to  live  for  ourselves 
alone."  And  here  was  a  new  mystery  to  him.  She 
was  revealed  to  him  as  another  self,  with  power  to  read 
his  every  thought.  And  yet  it  was  a  better  self,  for  she 
prompted  him  to  disinterested  acts ;  and  away  went  the 
glad  Paul  to  shower  his  attentions  upon  all  those  to 
whom  life  came  not  so  joyously.  And  an  aged  grand 
mother,  and  a  palsied  aunt,  almost  feared  that  the 
handsome  bridegroom  had  forgotten  his  fair  bride,  in  his 
warm  and  kindly  interest  for  them. 

Happy  Paul !  he  had  found  an  angel  clothed  in  flesh 
and  blood,  who  was  for  ever  to  stand  between  him  and 
his  old  hard,  selfish  nature.  Something  of  this  thought 
passed  through  his  mind,  as  his  eyv,  glanced  over  the 
crowd  in  search  of  his  beloved  and  beautiful  one.  But 
she,  on  the  other  side,  was  quite  near.  He  felt  her  soft 
presence,  and  as  he  turned  he  caught  the  light  of  her 
loving  smile. 

Yes,  she  appreciated  his  self-sacrifice,  and,  as  he 
gazed  upon  her,  his  delighted  mind  and  satisfied  heart 
felt  a  delicious  sense  of  the  coming  joy  of  the  eternal 
future. 


THE    WIFE.  17 

And  the  gay  bridal  passed  away,  but  its  light  and  its 
joy  seemed  to  overflow  all  the  coming  days.  And  Paul 
Cleves  at  length  found  himself  in  that  reality  of  which 
lie  had  so  often  dreamed,  and  for  which  he  had  so 
passionately  yearned.  Yes,  he  was  in  his  own  quiet 
home,  with  Rosa  by  his  side. 

Months  had  passed ;  he  had  settled  into  the  routine 
of  his  business,  and  she  in  that  of  her  domestic  life  ;  and 
now  it  was  evening.  Paul  had  come  to  his  home  from 
the  labours  of  the  day,  with  a  beautiful  hope  in  his 
heart ;  for  to  him  his  home  was  the  open  door  of  Heaven. 
He  carried  into  it  no  hard,  selfish  thought,  but  entered 
it  with  the  certainty  of  blessedness,  and  peace,  and  love. 

Rosa's  heart  was  in  her  eyes,  when  it  was  time  for 
Paul  to  come.  How  carefully  she  foresaw  his  every 
want !  And  when  she  had  prepared  everything  that  her 
active  love  could  suggest  to  promote  his  pleasure  and 
comfort,  then  she  took  her  place  at  the  window  to  watch 
for  his  coming.  This  evening  watch  was  a  beautiful 
time  to  the  young  wife,  for  she  said,  "  Now,  will  I  think 
of  God,  who  made  for  me  a  being  to  love."  And  at  this 
time,  it  was  always  as  if  the  great  sun  of  Heaven  shone 
upon  her. 

And  now,  Paul  passes  the  bridge,  to  which  Rosa's  eye  can 

but  just  reach.    And — is  it  not  wonderful  ? — Paul's  figure 

is  distinguished,  even  if  there  be  many  others,  in  the  dim 

twilight,  crossing  that  bridge.     Ah  !  how  well  she  knows 

his  figure ;  to  her  it  is  the  very  form  of  her  love.     She 

gees  her  whole  thoughts  and  desires  embodied  in  him. 

yAnd  now,  he  passes  the  corner  of  a  projecting  building, 

vdiich  for  a  time  partially  conceals  him  from  her  sight. 

2 


18  THE  WIFE. 

And  how  her  delight  increases  as  he  approaches ;  th« 
nearer  he  comes,  the  more  her  heart  opens  to  the  Divino 
sun  of  Heaven.  She  feels  as  if  she  could  draw  its  radia 
tions  down  upon  him.  She  waits  at  the  window  to  catch 
his  first  glad  look  of  recognition,  then  she  flies  to  the 
door,  and  no  sooner  is  it  opened  and  closed  again,  than 
Paul  clasps  her  to  his  heart,  and  presses  upon  her  warm 
lips  such  kisses  as  can  join  heart  to  heart. 

The  evening  meal  being  over,  then  Paul  turns  to  his 
peculiar  delight — to  listening  to  Rosa's  thoughts  and 
feelings.  All  day,  he  hears  of  worldly  things ;  but  with 
Rosa  he  hears  of  heavenly  things.  Her  heart  feeds  upon 
his  thoughts,  and  assimilates  them  into  new  and  gracefxJ 
forms  of  feminine  beauty,  and  Paul  sits  and  listens,  ful] 
of  love  and  wonder,  to  his  own  thoughts,  reproduce-.!  by 
the  vivid  perceptive  powers  of  his  wife.  For  instance, 
this  morning  Paul  was  reading  in  the  Bible,  as  he  always 
does  to  Rosa,  before  he  leaves  for  his  business,  and  he 
paused  on  the  words,  "  Then  Abraham  gave  up  the 
ghost,  and  died  in  a  good  old  age,  and  full  of  years,  and 
was  gathered  to  his  people ;"  and  he  remarked  that  in 
this  verse  there  was  a  most  striking  affirmation  of  a 
future  existence ;  for  that  Abraham  being  gathered  to 
"  his  people,"  must  imply  that  these  people  yet  lived,  or 
•why  should  mention  be  made  of  that  fact  ?  And  now,  in 
this  beautiful  evening  hour,  when  Paul  asked  Rosa  what 
she  had  been  thinking  of  all  day,  behold  she  had  a  whole 
Heaven-world  to  open  before  him.  With  her  arms 
clasped  around  his  neck,  and  her  clear,  bright  eyes 
looking  into  his,  she  answered — 

"  Oh,  Paul,  I  have  been  so  happy  all  day.     Do  you 


THE   WIFE.  19 

remember  what  you  told  me  about  Abraham  being  gath 
ered  to  '  his  people'  this  morning  ?  Well,  I  have  been 
thinking  about  it,  with  such  a  delight  in  the  thought  of 
those  living  people,  to  whom  we  will  be  gathered  after 
death.  You  left  me  wi*h  a  beautiful  thought,  dear  Paul, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  angels  gathered  around  me,  and 
told  me  so  many  more  things,  that  I  have  written  all  my 
thoughts  down." 

"Where  are  they?"  said  Paul,  feeling  such  a  delight 
in  the  possession  of  these  written  thoughts.  And  Rosa, 
drawing  a  paper  from  her  pocket,  leans  her  cheek  upon 
his  head,  and  reads  : — 

"  '  Then  Abraham  gave  up  the  ghost,  and  died  in  a 
good  old  age,  and  full  of  years,  and  was  gathered  to  hia 
people.'  How  beautiful  is  this  verse  of  the  holy  Word 
of  God  !  It  seems  to  open  to  us  a  glimpse  of  Heaven. 

"  After  death,  we  are  told,  that  he  was  *  gathered  to 
his  people.'  What  a  blessed  rest  and  enjoyment  comes 
over  us,  even  in  this  world,  when  we  find  ourselves  with 
'•our  people !' 

"  When  congenial  spirits  meet,  all  strife  and  conten 
tion  ceases ;  and  how  each  hastens  to  give  to  the  othe» 
of  the  fulness  of  his  thought  and  feeling  !  Such  mo 
ments  in  our  life  are  as  if  Heaven  had  come  down  to  us, 
and  fleeting  and  transient  as  the  moment  may  be,  its 
memory  lives  with  us  as  a  heavenly  light,  fed  from  above; 
and  ^rben  we  realize  a  continued  existence  of  the  har 
mony  of  thought  and  feeling  of  an  ever-flowing  commu 
nication  of  pure  sentiments,  of  kindly  affections,  and  of 
that  delight  in  perceiving  good  and  truth  in  others,  which 
makes  them  one  with  us, — then  we  have  a  glimpse  of 


20  THE   WIFE. 

that  Heaven  to  which  Abraham  ascended,  and  in  which 
}.e  was  'gathered  to  his  people.' 

"I  love  to  read  this  verse,  and  imagine  what  the  an 
gels  would  think  if  they  could  hear  the  words  as  I  read 
them.  And,  truly,  although  angels  do  not  hear  through 
our  gross  material  atmosphere,  can  they  not  see  the  image 
of  what  we  read  in  our  minds  ?  It  is  beautiful  to  think 
that  they  can ;  and  it  is  pleasant  to  conceive  ho\>  an  an 
gelic,  perfectly  spiritual  mind  would  understand  these 
words,  'And  Abraham  gave  up  the  ghost.'  The  angels 
would  see  that  the  spirit  of  Abraham  had  laid  off  that 
gross  material  covering,  which  was  not  the  real  man — 
only  the  appearance  of  a  man.  To  angels,  this  body, 
which  appears  to  us  so  tangible,  must  be  but  the  ghost 
of  a  reality,  for  to  them  the  spirit  is  the  reality. 

"  With  us,  in  this  outer  existence,  the  laying  off  of 
the  body  is  death,  that  symbol  of  annihilation ;  it  is  as 
if  our  life  ceased,  because  we  no  longer  grasp  coarse 
material  nature.  But  with  the  angels,  the  laying  off  of 
the  body  is  birth  ;  it  is  the  beginning  of  a  beautiful,  new 
existence.  The  spirit  then  moves  and  acts  in  a  spiritual 
world  of  light  and  beauty.  It  no  longer  moves  dimly 
in  that  dark,  material  world  which  is  as  but  a  lifeless, 
ghostly  counterpart  of  the  living,  eternal  spirit-world. 

"  Thus,  it  seems  to  me,  the  angels  would  understand 
the  words,  '  And  Abraham  gave  up  the  ghost.'  And 
the  words  which  follow  would  have  for  them  a  far  differ 
ent  signification  than  to  us.  For  with  us  '  old  age'  pre 
sents  the  idea  of  the  gradual  wasting  away  and  deterio- 
rati  :>n  of  the  powers  of  the  body ;  it  is  the  shadow  from 
the  darkened  future,  foretelling  the  end  of  life.  But 


i 


THE   WIFE.  21 

angels  see  the  spirit  advancing  from  one  state  of  wisdom 
to  another,  and  to  grow  old  in  Heaven  must  be  altoge 
thcr  different  from  growing  old  on  earth;  and  we  ca» 
only  conceive  of  a  spirit  as  growing  for  ever  more  act 
ive,  intelligent,  and  beautiful,  from  the  heavenly  wisdom 
and  love  in  which  it  develops.  Imagine  an  angel,  who 
has  lived  a  thousand  years  in  Heaven  ;  his  faculties  must 
have  all  this  time  been  perfecting  and  expanding  in  new 
powers  and  activities;  whereas,  on  earth,  the  material 
body,  in  '  threescore  years  and  ten,'  becomes  so  cum 
brous  and  heavy,  so  disorganized  and  worn  out,  that  the 
spiritual  body  can  no  longer  act  in  it;  hence  an  'old 
man,  full  of  years,'  appears  to  the  angels  as  one  whose 
spirit  has  passed  through  so  many  changes  of  state; 
consequently  has  thought  and  loved  so  much  that  it  has 
increased  in  activity,  life,  and  power,  and  thus  spiritus.1 
progression  must  be  onward  to  an  eternal  youth. 

"  Does  it  not  thrill  the  soul  with  the  joy  of  a  beauti 
ful  hope  to  imagine  Abraham,  or  any  loving  spirit,  as 
rising  from  the  material  to  the  spiritual  world,  '*  full  of 
years,'  or  states  of  wisdom  and  love,  for  ever  to  grow 
young  among  his  *  own  people  ?' 

"  What  to  Abraham,  now,  were  all  of  those  flocks, 
and  herds,  and  men  servants,  and  maid  servants,  that 
had  made  his  earthly  riches  ?  They  were  nothing  more 
to  him,  in  his  new  heavenly  life,  than  that  ghost  of  * 
body  '  he  gave  up.'  The  only  riches  he  could  carry  with 
him  were  his  spiritual  riches — his  powers  of  thinking 
and  feeling.  All  of  his  outer  life  was  given  to  him  to 
develop  these  powers.  All  of  his  natural  surroundings 
were  as  a  body  to  his  natural  thoughts  arid  feelings,  ia 


THE   WIFE. 


•which  they  might  grow  to  the  full  stature  of  a  man,  that 
he  might  become  '  full  of  years,'  or  states. 

"  And  thus  to  us  is  given  a  natural  world ;  and  its 
duties  and  ties  are  all  important,  for  within  the  natural 
thought  and  feeling  the  spiritual  thought  and  feeling 
grows,  as  does  the  soul  in  its  material  body.  And  like 
as  the  soul  ever  feels  within  itself  a  separate  existence, 
higher,  and  above  that  of  its  material  organization, 
so  also  does  the  spiritual  thought  and  feeling  realize 
itself  in  its  world  of  natural  thoughts  and  affections ;  it 
sighs  to  be  gathered  to  its  '  own  people,'  even  while  it 
loves  its  natural  ties.  And,  now  and  then,  it  has  beau 
tiful  glimpses  of  the  consociation  of  spirits  according  to 
spiritual  affinities. 

"  The  love  of  the  spirit,  thus  warmed  into  life,  should 
descend  into  its  natural  ties.  Uncongenial  brothers  and 
sisters  are  often  thrown  together  and  bound  by  the  most 
indissoluble  natural  ties.  We  should  cultivate  these  na 
tural  affections  and  family  ties  as  types  of  the  beautiful 
spiritual  consociations  of  Heaven. 

"  Our  spirit  must  grow  in  the  constant  exercise  of  na 
tural  affections,  or  we  can  have  no  capacity  for  the  spi 
ritual.  If  in  this  world  we  live  morose,  ungenial  lives, 
crushing  down  the  budding  affections,  and  the  active 
thoughts  springing  from  them,  can  we  ever  be  angels  9 
No,  assuredly  not ;  for  the  angels  are  like  the  Heavenly 
Father,  in  whose  light  of  love  they  live.  They  delight 
to  do  good  to  every  created  being,  whether  good  or  evil. 
They  would  not,  and  could  not  recognise  an  evil  person 
as  a  congenial  spirit,  but  for  the  sake  of  awakening  in 
him  some  spark  of  a  beautiful  love,  a  disinterested 


THE   WIFE.  23 

thought  and  affection ;  they  would  crown  his  whole  life 
with  loving  kindness  and  tender  compassion.  A  true, 
heavenly  angel  could  be  happy  in  the  effort  to  do  good 
to  the  most  fallen  human  spirit ;  and  should  not  we  imi 
tate  them,  that  we  may  be  as  one  of  them,  one  in  thought 
and  feeling  with  them  ? 

"  To  love  ! — love  with  our  every  power  of  being — is 
the  only  eternal  reality.  From  love  springs  thought; 
and  thought  and  affection  are  the  flesh  and  blood  of  the 
spirit.  The  spirit  grows  upon  what  it  feeds,  as  does  the 
body  upon  its  material  food ;  and  to  stint  the  spirit  of 
its  food  is  a  sad  detriment  to  our  after-life. 

"  A  perception  of  the  heavenly  life  should  arouse  us 
to  a  power  of  loving  every  human  being  that  we  come  in 
contact  with,  and  make  us  realize  that  to  love  and  serve 
is  the  happiness  of  angels,  and  the  principle  which  "con 
joins  men  and  angels  to  God." 

When  the  last  word  was  breathed,  as  it  were,  in  a  soft, 
holy  brightness,  from  Rosa's  lips,  Paul  sealed  them  with 
a  kiss.  How  much  he  had  learned  from  the  perception 
of  a  mind  that  was  so  wholly  gentle  and  feminine,  that 
its  substance  seemed  all  of  love ;  of  a  love  that  received 
the  impression  only  of  heavenly  things  ! — while  he,  with 
all  of  his  brilliant  talents  and  masculine  understanding, 
felt  that  his  contact  was  with  this  hard  outer  world  of 
material  facts  and  realities;  and  that  oftentimes  the 
very  density  of  the  atmosphere  in  which  his  mind  dwelt 
obscured  and  clouded  the  delicate  moral  perceptions  of 
his  being. 

But  Rosa  saw  above  him,  and  revealed  to  him  thoso 
beautiful  inner  truths  that  were  to  give  form  and  cha- 


24  THE  WIFE. 

racter  to  his  outer  life.  Yes;  Paul  had  uncongenial 
brothers  and  sisters,  and  his  more  refined  tastes  and 
.pursuits  would  have  led  him  away  from  them.  But 
Rosa,  with  her  womanly  tact,  and  grace,  and  lovingness, 
led  him  out  from  the  mists  of  selfishness  into  the  halo 
of  a  more  genial  and  beautiful  light,  and  he  felt  his 
heart  grow  warm  with  an  inexpressible  love. 

"Ah,  Rosa,"  he  said,  "there  comes  over  me  a  new 
and  more  beautiful  perception  of  the  holy  marriage  re 
lation  ;  and,  like  another  Adam,  I  realize  that  an  Eve 
is  created  for  me  from  my  ow-n  breast.  My  thought 
grows  so  living  in  you,  Rosa, — this  morning,  so  uncon 
sciously,  was  taken  from  me  but  a  dry  rib,  and  now  God 
grants  to  me  this  beautiful  Eve !  Ah,  Rosa,  my  heart  ia 
so  full  of  gratitude  for  the  beautiful  gift  of  your  thoughts 
to  me, — I  realize  so  fully  that  you  are  a  '  help  meet  for 
me.'" 

Happy  Rosa  !  She  gazed  into  Paul's  eyes,  and  caress 
ed  him  with  her  soft  touches,  and  said — 

"  Oh,  Paul,  Paul !  when  I  look  at  you,  and  think  that 
some  day  you  will  be  an  angel  of  Heaven,  and  ihat  I 
will  see  your  glorious,  spirit-beauty,  my  heart  is  so 
happy ;  for  then  I  can  feel,  dear  Paul,  that  our  love 
stretches  far  away  beyond  this  world  and  this  life ;  and 
if  I  love  you  so  much  here,  what  will  it  be  when  I  see 
you  in  the  beautiful  heavenly  light?" 

Paul  smiled. 

"  Your  fancy  is  dreaming  of  what  I  will  be  ;  and  can 
you  not  dream  for  me  of  how  bright  and  beautiful  my 
Rosa  will  be  in  that  heavenly  light?" 

"Ah,  yes,"  said  Rosa,  ".that  too  is  pleasant,  for  1 


THE   WIFE.  25 

love  to  be  beautiful,  dear  Paul,  for  your  sake ;  and  to 
day  I  was  thinking  of  how  happy  I  should  make  you— 
not  I,  but  the  Lord  will  make  you  happy,  dear  Paul, 
through  me;  and  is  not  that  a  beautiful  thought — that 
it  is  God  loving  us  through  each  other?" 

How  holy  love  grew  at  once  to  Paul !  though  at  first 
he  did  not  see  this  beautiful  truth  as  clearly  as  did  Rosa. 
But  she  went  on,  in  her  loving  way,  and  very  soon  she 
raised  him  into  that  inner  sunshine  in  which  she  dwelt, 
and  then  he  saw  it  all  clearly,  for  she  said — 

"  You  know,  dear  Paul,  that  we  read  in  the  Bible  that 
'  God  is  a  sun,  and  that  He  is  the  fountain  of  life,'  and 
thus  all  life  flows  from  Him  into  us,  just  as  in  the  tiny 
flowers  upon  the  earth  comes  the  warm  living  ray  of  th<> 
material  sun,  developing  in  them  beautiful  colours  and 
odours — so  the  life-ray  from  God  fills  us  with  warm  affec 
tions;  We  are  but  dead  forms — the  power  and  the  life 
is  in  Him,  and  if  we  were  cut  off  from  Him,  how  could 
we  love  each  other?" 

Paul  was  convinced,  and  did  not  fail  to  make  Rosa 
realize  the  Heaven-derived  life  and  power  that  was  in 
him.  And  as  they  kneeled  together  in  their  evening 
devotions,  and  Paul  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms,  how 
clearly  he  felt  the  influence  of  that  Divine  sun  upon  his 
soul,  filling  it  with  a  gushing,  yearning  tenderness  for 
his  beloved  and  beautiful  one ;  and  how  fervently  he 
prayed  that  the  light  might  grow  in  her,  and  through 
her  descend  to  him  !  Beautiful  are  the  prayers  of  such 
loving  heaj-ts,  for  the  inner  door  of  their  existence  then 
opens,  and  the  great  King  of  Glory  enters  in,  and  tb.->y 
are  in  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  is  in  them. 


26  THE   WIFE.  - 

Yes,  Paul  had  found  a  wife — not  an  external  type  or 
shadow  of  one  to  mock  and  vex  his  soul  with  an  unsatis 
factory  pretence,  but  a  most  blessed  and  eternal  reality. 
He  was  married  not  only  in  the  sight  of  men,  but  before 
God  and  the  angels.  And  the  heart  of  Rosa  responded 
to  his  mind  as  truly  and  unfailingly  as  his  heart  beat  to 
the  breath  of  his  lungs.  She  was  as  his  inner  life,  and 
he  felt  himself  strong  to  guard  and  protect  her  as  he 
would  his  own  existence.  She  had  become  one  with 
him,  and  henceforth  there  was  no  separate  existence  for 
these  two. 

So  serenely  and  lovingly  flowed  their  life  in  its  inte 
rior  light  and  beauty,  that  cares  and  anxieties  seemed 
scarce  to  touch  their  states.  True,  these  came  to  them 
in  the  guise  of  those  calamities  and  disappointments, 
that  so  often  sweep  as  the  destructive  tornado  over  the 
lower  lives  of  the  earth-loving  children  of  men.  But  as 
their  affections  were  spiritual,  they  were  not  wounded 
by  the  earth-sorrows.  Their  treasures  were  laid  up 
above,  where  "moth  and  rust  doth  not  corrupt."  Paul 
realized  this  when  he  saw  Rosa  hold  her  dead  baby  in 
her  arms  and  smile  through  her  tears.  And  yet  this 
was  her  "little  Paul"  that  she  loved  with  such  an  intense 
delight  and  devotion  ;  because  in  him,  all  the  day  long, 
she  saw  that  wonderful  life  of  God  manifested  in  such 
a  heavenly  innocence  and  purity,  as  in  a  tiny  image  of 
her  own  Paul.  Yet,  when  the  spirit  of  the  child  waa 
gone,  she  adorned  the  clay  form  in  which  it  had  dwelt, 
with  such  loving  care,  and  laid  it  in  its  little  coffin,  that 
her  hand  might  serve  it  to  the  very  last,  and  then  turned 


THE  WIFE.  27 

and  rested  her  head  in  the  bosom  of  her  husband  as  a 
wounded  bird  in  its  downy  nest. 

Paul's  love  seemed  to  lift  her  to  the  Heaven  to  which 
her  baby  had  gone;  and  when,  after  a  few  days,  she 
urged  him  to  leave  her  and  go  to  his  office  where  his  du 
ties  called  him,  Paul  feared  that  she  would  feel  lonely, 
and  would  fain  have  stayed  beside  her.  But  she  said — 

"  No,  dear  Paul ;  I  shall  never  be  alone  again ;  the 
spirit  of  the  child  will  be  with  me :  it  is  so  beautiful  to 
have  loved  him  on  earth,  for  now  I  can  love  him  in  Hea 
ven."  And  so  Paul  left  her,  not  as  one  in  a  dark  land 
of  sorrow,  but  floating  in  a  world  of  light  and  love.  And 
how  eagerly  he  hastened  back  to  his  gentle,  stricken 
dove,  and  folded  her  to  his  heart,  as  though  he  would 
shield  her  from  all  sorrow !  But  he  scarce  found  a  sor 
row  ;  she  was  all  light  and  joy,  and  said — 

"  Oh,  Paul,  I  am  so  happy,  for  I  have  been  thinking 
all  day  how  happy  the  angels  must  be  to  have  my  little 
Paul  with  them  !  It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  see  them 
adorning  him  with  heavenly  garments,  and  I  could  see 
his  happy  smile ;  and  I  was  glad  that  he  was  no  longer 
oppressed  by  his  weak,  earthly  body.  Yes,  he  is  now  a 
blessed  angel  in  Heaven,  and  is  it  not  beautiful,  dear 
Paul,  that  we  have  given  an  angel  to  Heaven?" 

Thus  was  the  earth-sorrow  turned  to  a  heavenly  joy. 
And  though  other  children  were  born  to  Paul  and  Rosa, 
yet  their  chief  delight  in  them  was,  that  they  were  to  be 
angels  in  Heaven.  How  often  Rosa  said,  "  Paul,  they 
are  the  children  of  the  Lord — not  ours ;  only  we  have 
the  loving  work  to  teach  them  for  Heaven." 

Through  Rosa,  Paul  realized  this  beautiful  truth,  and 


28  THE  WIFE. 

earnestly  strove  to  impart  truth  to  the  tender  and  im 
pressible  minds  of  his  children  ;  he  presented  it  to  them 
in  the  most  beautiful  and  attractive  forms.  But  it  was 
Rosa  that  made  them  love  it  and  live  in  it ;  it  was  the 
teachings  of  the  father  that  fell  like  "golden  grains"  in 
the  earth  of  their  minds ;  but  it  was  the  gentle,  never- 
ceasing  culture  of  the  mother,  that  caused  it  to  spring 
up  into  the  sunshine  of  Heaven,  and  bear  the  fruit  of 
kind  and  loving  actions.  When  Paul  saw  this,  he  felt 
himself  a  man  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word ;  one,  who 
could  perform  the  highest  uses  in  life,  without  being 
clogged  and  thwarted  by  the  want  of  concert  in  action 
by  his  partner  in  life.  Thus  it  is  that  a  harmony  of 
thought  and  feeling  produces  a  harmony  in  action. 

And  how  elevated  and  noble  became  all  the  ends  of 
Paul's  life  !  It  was  Rosa  that  elevated  and  refined  them, 
and  directed  them  Heavenward.  It  was  beautiful  to  see 
how  sht  sould  draw  down  the  light  of  Heaven  into  all 
the  outer  life.  Everything  on  earth  seemed  to  her  but 
the  symbol  of  something  in  Heaven.  And  when  Paul 
once  gave  her  money,  she  thanked  him  with  such  a  grate 
ful  warmth  of  affection,  that  he  laughingly  asked  her, 
if  she  loved  money,  that  she  was  so  grateful  for  it.  She 
answered,  "  Yes,  Paul ;  I  love  your  money,  because  you 
have  worked  for  it ;  and  when  you  give  it  to  me,  it  seems 
to  our  outer  life  what  truth  is  to  our  inner  life.  If  you 
gave  me  no  truth,  I  could  not  adorn  your  inner  life  with 
love ;  and  if  you  gave  me  no  money,  I  could  not  adorn 
your  outer  life  with  good.  I  could  not  alone  attain 
either  money  or  truth.  I  should  be  very  poor,  dear 
Paul,  both  spiritually  and  naturally,  without  you.  But 


THE  WIFE.  29 

you,  as  a  husband,  bring  me  truth  and  money.  With 
the  first  I  call  the  angels  around  you ;  with  the  second 
I  call  earthly  friends  around  you ;  and  thus,  both  your 
inner  and  outer  life  are  made  glad  and  warm  and 
genial." 

And  Paul  knew  this  ;  for  his  home  was  beautiful, — a 
feminine  taste  and  tact  reigned  through  it,  and  Rosa's 
diffusive  charity  made  him  the  centre  of  a  circle  to  whom 
he  dispensed  not  only  earthly  goods,  but  the  noble 
thoughts  of  his  large  understanding.  And  Paul  realized 
that  while  he  guided  all  things  by  his  wisdom,  given  to 
him  of  God,  Rosa  was  as  the  motive  power  to  his 
existence.  Her  influence  pervaded  his  every  thought 
and  feeling,  and  while  it  made  his  life  upon  earth  so  full 
and  perfect,  it  allied  him  to  Heaven ;  and  thus  he  held 
her  in  his  house  and  heart  as  the  Holy  of  holies. 

Happy  is  the  earth  if  it  have  one  pair  of  such  mar 
ried  ones,  for  through  such,  the  Spirit  and  life  of  God 
descend  upon  the  earth,  and  bind  it  to  Heaven.  But 
blessed,  yea  most  blessed  will  be  the  earth  when  it  has 
many  such,  for  then  the  heavenly  sunshine  will  flood  the 
whole  earth  with  its  light  and  glory,  and  the  Lord,  who 
is  the  centre  and  source  of  this  glorious  Sun,  will  see 
His  image  reflected,  in  its  mercy  and  tender  beauty,  in 
the  lives  of  the  dwellers  upon  earth,  even  as  it  now  is 
seen  by  Him  in  those  of  the  dwellers  in  Heaven,  arid 
thus  will  the  "  kingdom  of  God"  come  upon  earth  "-as 
it  is  in  Heaven." 


MARRIAGE. 

IN  the  truest  sense  of  the  \vord,  worn?  ..  was  created 
to  be  man's  comforter,  a  joyous  helpmate  in  hours  of 
sunshine,  a  soother,  when  the  clouds  darken  and  the 
tempests  howl  around  his  head;  then,  indeed,  we  per 
ceive  the  divinely  beautiful  arrangement  which  marriage 
enforces.  Man  in  his  wisdom,  his  rare  mental  endow 
ments,  is  little  fitted  to  hear  adversity.  He  bows  before 
the  blast,  like  the  sturdy  pine  which  the  wintry  storm, 
sweeping  past,  cracks  to  its  very  centre ;  while  woman, 
as  the  frail  reed,  sways  to  and  fro  with  the  fierce  gust, 
then  rises  again  triumpl?  ,nt  towards  the  blackening  sky. 
Her  affection,  pure  and  steadfast,  her  unswerving  faith 
and  devotion,  sustaht  man  in  the  hour  of  darkness,  even 
•as  the  trailing  w<;ed  supports  and  binds  together  the 
mighty  walls  of  some  mouldering  ruin. 

Would  you  know  why  so  many  unhappy  marriages 
geern  to  falsify  the  truth  that  they  are  made  in  Heaven  ? 
Why  we  see  daily  diversity  of  interests,  and  terrible 
contentions,  eating  the  very  life  away,  like  the  ghoul  in 
the  Arabian  tales,  that  prayed  on  human  flesh  ?  It  is 
that  women  are  wrongly  educated.  Instructed,  trained, 
to  consider  matrimony  the  sole  aim,  the  end  of  their 
existence,  it  matters  not  to  whom  the  Gordian  knot  la 
tied,  so  that  the  trousseau,  wedding,  and  eclat  of  bride- 
hood  follow.  Soon  the  brightness  of  this  false  aurora 
borealis  fades  from  the  conjugal  horizon  ;  and  the  truths 
of  life,  divested  of  all  romance,  in  bitterness  and  pain 


MARRIAGE.  3 

rise  before  them.  Unfitted  for  duties  which  muat  be 
fulfilled,  physically  incapacitated  for  the  responsibilities 
of  life — mere  school-girls  in  many  instances — the  chains 
they  have  assumed  become  cables  of  iron,  whose  heavy 
weight  crushes  into  the  heart,  erasing  for  ever  the  foot 
prints  of  affection,  and  leaving  instead  the  black  marks 
of  deadly  hate.  Then  comes  the  struggle  for  supre 
macy.  Man  in  his  might  and  power  asserts  his  will, 
while  woman,  unknoAving  her  sin,  unguided  by  the 
divine  light  of  love,  neglects,  abandons  her  home ;  then 
come  ruin,  despair,  and  death.  God  help  those  mis 
taken  ones,  who  have  thus  hurried  into  union,  ignorant 
of  each  other's  prejudices,  opinions,  and  dispositions, 
when  too  late  they  discover  there  is  not,  nor  ever  can 
be,  affinity  between  souls  wide  as  the  poles  asunder. 

Notwithstanding  these  miserable  unions,  we  must  con 
sider  marriage  divine  in  its  origin,  and  alone  calculated 
to  make  life  blessed.  Who  can  imagine  a  more  blissful 
state  of  existence  than  two  united  by  the  law  of  God 
and  love,  mutually  sustaining  each  other  in  the  jostlings 
of  life ;  together  weathering  its  storms,  or  basking 
beneath  its  clear  skies ;  hand  in  hand,  lovingly,  truth 
fully,  they  pass  onward.  This  is  marriage  as  God 
instituted  it,  as  it  ever  should  be,  as  Moore  beautifully 
Bays — 

"  There's  a  bliss  beyond  all  that  the  minstrel  has  told, 

When  two  that  are  linked  in  one  heavenly  tie, 
With  heart  never  changing  and  brow  never  cold, 
Love  on  through  all  ills,  and  love  on  till  they  die !" 

To  attain  this  bliss,  this  union  of  the  soul,  as  well  ui 


32  MARK  I  AGE. 

4 

of  hands,  it  is  necessary  that  much  should  he  changed. 
Girls  must  not  think,  as  soon  as  emancipated  from 
nursery  control,  that  they  are  qualified  to  become  wives 
and  mothers.  If  woman  would  become  the  true  com 
panion  of  man,  she  must  not  only  cultivate  her  intellect, 
but  strive  to  control  her  impulses  and  subdue  her  tem 
per,  so  that  while  yielding  gently,  gracefully,  to  what 
appears,  at  the  time,  perhaps,  a  harsh  requirement,  she 
may  feel  within  the  "  calm  which  passeth  all  understand* 
ing."  There  must  be  a  mutual  forbearance,  no  fierce 
wrestling  to  rule.  If  there  is  to  be  submission,  let  the 
wife  show  how  meekly  Omnipotent  love  suifereth  all 
things.  Purity,  innocence,  and  holy  beauty  invest  such 
a  love  with  a  halo  of  glory. 

Man,  mistake  not  then  thy  mate,  and  hereafter,  bit 
terly  repenting,  exclaim  at  the  curse  of  marriage.  No, 
no,  with  prudent  foresight,  avoid  the  ball-room  belle — 
seek  thy  twin  soul  among  the  pure-hearted,  the  meek, 
the  true.  Like  must  mate  with  like ;  the  kingly  eagle 
pairs  not  with  the  owl,  nor  the  lion  with  the  jackal. 
Neither  must  woman  rush  blindly,  heedlessly,  into  the 
noose,  fancying  the  sunny  hues,  the  lightning  glances 
of  her  first  admirer,  true  prismatic  colours.  She  must 
first  chemically  analyze  them  to  be  sure  they  are  not 
reflected  light  alone,  from  her  own  imagination.  Thai 
frightsome  word  to  many,  "old  maid,"  ought  not  tc 
exercise  any  influence  over  her  firmly  balanced  mind 
better  far,  however,  lead  a  single  lifp,  than  form  a  sin 
ful  alliance,  that  can  only  result  in  misery  and  wretched 
n<jss.  Some  of  the  purest  and  best  women  that  ever 


MARRTAGE.  85 

lived,  have  belonged  to  that  much  decried,  contemned 
sisterhood. 

Wed  not,  merely  to  fly  from  an  opprobrious  epithet ; 
assume  not  the  holy  name  of  wife,  to  one  who  brings 
trueness  of  heart,  wealth  of  affection,  whilst  you  have- 
nought  to  offer  in  return  but  cold  respect.  Your  first 
love  already  lavished  on  another :  believe  me,  respect, 
esteem,  are  but  poor,  weak  talismans  to  ward  off  life's 
trials.  Rise  superior  to  all  puerile  fancies  ;  bear  nobly 
the  odium  of  old  maidism,  if  such  be  thy  fate,  and  if, 
like  Sir  Walter  Scott's  lovely  creation,  Rebecca,  you 
are  separated  by  an  impassable  gulf  from  your  heart's 
chosen,  or  have  met  and  suffered  by  the  false  and 
treacherous,  take  not  any  chance  Waverley  who  may 
cross  your  path.  Like  the  high-sbuled  Jewess,  resolve 
to  live  on  singly,  and  strive  with  the  means  God  has 
given  you,  to  benefit,  to  comfort  your  suffering  sisters. 

Would  man  and  woman  give  to  this  all-important  sub 
ject,  so  vital  to  their  life-long  happiness,  the  considera 
tion  it  requires,  we  should  not  so  often  meet  with  men 
broken  in  spirit — memento  mori  legibly  written  on  their 
countenances ;  with  women  prematurely  old — unloving 
wives,  careless  husbands.  Meditate  long  before  you 
assume  ties  to  endure  to  your  life's  end.  mayhaps  to 
eternity.  Pause  even  on  the  altar-stone,  if  only  there 
thou  seest  thy  error ;  for  a  union  of  hands,  without 
hearts,  is  a  sin  against  high  heaven.  Remember, 

"  There  are  two  angels  that  attend,  unseen, 
Each  one  of  us  ;  and  in  great  books  record 
Our  good  and  evil  deeds.     He  who  writes  down 
The  good  ones,  after  every  action,  closei 
3 


84  THE  BRIDE'S  SISTER. 

His  volume ;  and  ascends  with  it  to  God  ; 
The  other  keeps  his  dreadful  day-book  open 
Till  sunset,  that  we  may  repent ;  which  doing, 
The  record  of  the  action  fades  away, 
And  leaves  a  line  of  white  across  the  page." 


THE  BRIDE'S  SISTER. 

OH,  sister,  darling,  though  I  smile,  the  tears  are  in  my  heart, 
And  I  will  strive  to  keep  them  there,  or  hide  them  if  they  start ; 
I  know  you've  seen  our  mother's  glance  ofttimes  so  full  of  woe, 
The  grief-sob  rises  to  the  lips  that  bid  her  first-born  go. 

It  is  not  that  she  doubts  his  love  to  whom  thou'st  given  thine,— 
The  fear  that  he  may  coldly  look  upon  his  clasping  vine  ; 
But,  oh,  she  feels  however  loved  and  cherished  as  his  wife, 
Though  calm  her  lily  may  float  down  upon  the  stream  of  life; 

Yet,  by  her  own  glad  married  years,  she  knows  that  clouds  will 

stray, 

And  tears  will  sometimes  fill  thy  cup,  though  kissed  by  love  away ; 
And  she  will  not  be  near  her  flower  to  lay  it  on  her  breast — 
'Tis  thus — 'tis  thus  the  young  birds  fly,  and  leave  the  lonely  nest  I 

Oh,  sister,  darling,  I  shall  miss  thy  footfall  on  the  stair, 

Beside  my  own,  when  good-night  words  have  followed  good-night 

prayer.; 

And  miss  thee  from  our  pleasant  room,  and  miss  thee  when  I  sleep, 
And  feel  no  more  thy  twining  arms,  and  soft  breath  on  my  cheek. 

And  I  shall  gaze  with  tearful  eyes  upon  thy  vacant  chair — 
Sweet  sister,  wherefore,  wherefore  go,  'tis  more  than  I  can  bear  I 
Forgive  me,  Lizzie,  do  not  weep — I'm  strong  again,  and  calm, 
"Our  Father"  for  my  aching  heart  will  sead  a  spirit-balm. 


LOVE   VS.    HEALTH.  35 

Now  let  me  bind  this  snowy  veil  amid  thy  silken  hair, 
Thrt  white  moss-rose  and  orange  buds  upon  thy  bosom  fair; 
How  beautiful  you  are  to-night!     Does  love  such  charms  impart! 
An  angel's  wing  methinks  has  stirred  the  waters  of  your  heart ;    . 

So  holy  seem  its  outlets  blue  where  sparkle  yet  the  tears, 
Like  stars  that  tremble  in  the  sky  when  not  a  cloud  appears. 
Art  ready  now  ?    The  evening  wanes  ;  the  guests  will  soon  be  here, 
And  the  glad  bridegroom  waits  his  own.     God  bless  thee,  sister 
dearl 


LOVE  vs.  HEALTH. 

ABOUT  a  mile  from  one  of  the  Berkshire  villages,  and 
separated  from  it  by  the  Housatonic,  is  one  of  the  love 
liest  sites  in  all  our  old  county.  It  is  on  an  exhausted 
farm  of  rocky,  irregular,  grazing  ground,  with  a  meadow 
of  rich  alluvial  soil.  The  river,  which  so  nearly  sur 
rounds  it  as  to  make  it  a  peninsula  "  in  little,"  doubles 
around  a  narrow  tongue  of  land,  called  the  "ox-bow" — 
a  bit  of  the  meadow  so  smooth,  so  fantastic  in  its  shape, 
so  secluded,  so  adorned  by  its  fringe  of  willows,  clema 
tises,  grape-vines,  and  all  our  water-loving  shrubs,  that 
it  suggests  to  every  one,  who  ever  read  a  fairy  tale,  a 
scene  for  the  revels  of  elves  and  fairies.  Yet  no  Oberon 
— no  Titania  dwelt  there  ;  but  long  ago,  where  there  are 
now  some  ruinous  remains  of  old  houses,  and  an  uncouth 
new  one,  stood  the  first  frame  house  of  the  lower  valley 
of  the  Housatonic.  It  was  inhabited  by  the  last  Indian 
who  maintained  the  dignity  of  a  Chief,  and  from  him 
passed  to  the  first  missionary  to  the  tribe.  There  Kirk- 


36  LOVE   VS.    HEALTH. 

land,  the  late  honoured  President  of  Harvard  College,, 
was  horn,   and  there  his  genial   and    generous   nature 
received  its  first  and  ineffaceable  impressions.     Tenants, 
unknown  to  fame,  succeeded  the  missionary. 

The  Indian  dwelling  fell  to  decay ;  and  the  property 
has  now  passed  into  the  hands  of  a  poet,  who,  rumour 
Bays,  purposes  transforming  it  to  a  villa,  and  whose 
occupancy  will  give  to  it  a  new  consecration. 

Just  before  its  final  high  destiny  was  revealed,  there 
dwelt  there  a  rustic  pair,  who  found  out,  rather  late  in 
life,  that  Heaven  had  decreed  they  should  wear  together 
the  conjugal  yoke.  That  Heaven  had  decreed  it  no  one 
could  doubt  who  saw  how  well  it  fitted,  and  how  well 
they  drew  together. 

They  had  one  child — a  late  blossom,  and  cherished  as 
such.  Little  Mary  Marvel  would  have  been  spoiled,  but 
there  was  nothing  to  spoil  her.  Love  is  the  element  of 
life,  and  in  an  atmosphere  of  love  she  lived.  Her 
parents  were  people  of  good  sense — upright  and  simple 
in  their  habits,  w'th  no  theories,  nor  prejudices,  ambi 
tions,  or  corruptions,  to  turn  the  child  from  the  inspira 
tions  of  Heaven,  with  which  she  began  her  innocent  life. 

When  little  Mary  Marvel  came  to  be  seven  years  old. 
it  was  a  matter  of  serious  consideration  how  she  was  to 
be  got  to  the  district  school  on  "  the  plain"  (the  common 
designation  of  the  broad  village  street),  full  a  mile  from 
the  Marvels'  secluded  residence.  Mrs.  Marvel  was  far 
better  qualified  than  the  teachers  of  the  said  school,  to 
direct  the  literary  training  of  her  child.  She  was  a 
strong-minded  woman,  and  a  reader  of  all  the  books  she 
could  comp?ss.  But  she  had  the  in-door  farm-work  to 


LOVE    VS.    HEALTH.  37 

do — cheese  to  make,  butter  to  churn,  &c. ;  and  after 
little  Mary  had  learned  to  read  and  spell,  she  must  be 
sent  to  school  for  the  more  elaborate  processes  of  learning 
— arithmetic,  geography,  &c. 

"Now,  Julius  Hasen,"  said  Marvel  to  his  only  neigh 
bour's  son,  "  don't  you  want  to  call,  as  you  go  by,  days, 
with  your  little  sister,  and  take  our  Mary  to  school  ?  I 
guess  she  won't  be  a  trouble.  She  could  go  alone ;  but, 
somehow,  mother  and  I  shall  feel  easier — as  the  river  is 
to  pass,  &c. — if  you  are  willing." 

A  kind  boy  was  Julius;  and,  without  hesitation, .he 
promised  to  take  Marvel's  treasure  under  his  convoy. 
And,  for  the  two  years  following,  whenever  the  district 
school  was  in  operation,  Julius  might  be  seen  conducting 
the  two  little  girls  down  the  hill  that  leads  to  the  bridge. 
At  the  bridge  they  loitered.  Its  charm  was  felt,  but 
indefinable.  It  was  a  spell  upon  their  senses ;  they 
would  look  up  and  down  the  sparkling  stream  till  it 
winded  far  away  from  sight,  and  at  their  own  pretty 
faces,  that  smiled  again  to  them,  and  at  Julius  skittering 
the  stones  along  the  water,  (a  magical  rustic  art!)  That 
old  bridge  was  a  point  of  sight  for  pictures,  lovelier  than 
Claude  painted.  For  many  a  year,  the  old  lingered 
there,  to  recall  the  poetry  of  their  earlier  days ;  lovers, 
to  watch  the  rising  and  setting  of  many  a  star,  and 
children  to  play  out  their  "  noon-times"  and  twilights. 
Heaven  forgive  those  who  replaced  it  with  a  dark,  dirty, 
covered,  barn-like  thing,  of  bad  odour  in  every  sense ! 
The  worst  kind  of  barbarians,  those,  who  make  war — 
net  upon  life,  but  upon  the  life  of  life — its  innocent 
pleasures ! 


38  LOVE   VS.    HEALTH. 

But,  we  loiter  with  the  children,  when  we  should  go 
on  with  them  through  the  narrow  lane  intersecting  broad, 
rich  meadows,  and  shaded  by  pollard  willows,  which  form 
living  and  growing  posts  for  the  prettiest  of  our  northern 
fences,  and  round  the  turn  by  the  old  Indian  burying- 
ground.  Now,  having  come  to  "  the  plain,"  they  pass 
the  solemn  precincts  of  the  village  Church,  and  that 
burying-ground  where,  since  the  Indian  left  his  dead 
with  us,  generations  of  their  successors  are  already  lain. 
And  now  they  enter  the  wide  village  street,  wide  as  it 
is,  shaded  and  embowered  by  dense  maples  and  wide- 
stretching  elms ;  and  enlivened  with  neatly-trimmed 
court-yards  and  flower-gardens.  It  was  a  pleasant  walk, 
and  its  sweet  influences  bound  these  young  people's 
hearts  together.  We  are  not  telling  a  love-story,  and 
do  not  mean  to  intimate  that  this  was  the  beginning  of 
one — though  we  have  heard  of  the  seeds  nature  implants 
germinating  at  as  early  a  period  as  this,  and  we  remem 
ber  a  boy  of  six  years  old  who,  on  being  reproved  by 
his  mother  for  having  kept  his  book  open  at  one  place, 
and  his  eye  fixed  on  it  for  half  an  hour,  replied,  with 
touching  frankness — 

"Mother,  I  can  see  nothing  there  but  Caroline 
Mitchell !  Caroline  Mitchell !" 

Little  Mary  Marvel  had  no  other  sentiment  for  Julius 
than  his  sister  had.  She  thought  him  the  kindest  and 
the  best ;  and  much  as  she  reverenced  the  village  peda 
gogues,  she  thought  Julius's  learning  profounder  than 
theirs,  for  he  told  them  stories  from  the  Arabian  Nights 
— taught  them  the  traditions  of  Monument  Mountain — 
made  them  learn  by  heart  the  poetry  that  has  immor- 


LOVE   VS.    HEALTR  89 

talized  them,  and  performed  other  miracles  of  learning 
and  teaching,  to  which  the  schoolmaster  didn't  approach  ! 

Children's  judgments  are  formed  on  singular  premises, 
but  they  are  usually  just  conclusions.  Julius  was  an 
extraordinary  boy,  and,  fortunately,  he  was  selected  on 
that  account,  and  not  because  he  was  sickly  and  could 
do  nothing  else  (not  uncommon  grounds  for  this  elec 
tion),  for  a  liberal  education.  Strong  of  heart  and 
strong  in  body,  he  succeeded  in  everything,  and  without 
being  a  charge  to  his  father.  He  went  through  college 
— was  graduated  with  honour — studied  law — and,  when 
Mary  Marvel  was  about  nineteen,  he  came  home  from 
his  residence  in  one  of  our  thriving  Western  cities,  for 
a  vacation  in  his  full  legal  business. 

His  first  visit  was  to  the  Marvels,  where  he  was  received 
with  as  much  warmth  as  in  his  father's  home.  As  he 
left  the  house,  he  said  to  his  sister  Anne,  who  was  with 
him — 

"  How  shockingly  poor  Mary  is  looking !" 

"  Shockingly  !  Why,  I  expected  you  would  say  she 
was  so  pretty !" 

"  Pretty !  My  dear  Anne,  the  roses  on  your  cheek 
are  worth  all  the  beauty  that  is  left  in  her  pale  face. 
What  have  they  done  to  her  ?  When  you  were  children, 
she  was  a  robust,  round  little  thing — and  so  strong  and 
cheerful — you  could  hear  her  voice  half  a  mile,  ringing 
like  a  bell ;  and  now  it's  '  Hark  from  the  tomb  a  doleful 
sound  !'  When  I  last  saw  her — let  me  see — four  years 
ago — she  was — not  perhaps  a  Hebe — but  a  wholesome- 
looking  girl." 

"Julius  ! — what  an  expression  !" 


40  LOVE   VS.    HEALTH. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  it  conveys  my  meaning,  and,  there 
fore,  is  a  good  expression.  What  has  been  the  matter  ? 
Has  she  had  a  fever  ?  Is  she  diseased  ?" 

"  Julius  !  No  !  Is  that  the  way  the  Western  people 
talk  about  young  ladies? — Mary  is  in  poor  health — 
rather  delicate ;  but  she  does  not  look  so  different  from 
the  rest  of  our  girls — I,  you  know,  am  an  exception." 

"  Thank  Heaven,  you  are,  my  dear  Anne,  and  thank 
our  dear,  sensible  mother,  who  understands  the  agents 
and  means  of  health." 

"  But  Mary's  mother  is  a  sensible  woman  too." 

"  Not  in  her  treatment  of  Mary,  I  am  sure.  Tell  me 
how  she  lives.  What  has  she  been  about  since  I  was 
here?" 

"  Why,  soon  after  you  went  away,  you  know,  I  wrote 

to  you  that  she  had  gone  to  the School.     You 

know  her  parents  are  willing  to  do  everything  for  her— 
and  Mary  was  very  ambitious.  They  are  hard  students 
at  that  school.  Mary  told  me  she  studied  from  eight  to 
ten  hours  a  day.  She  always  got  sick  before  examina 
tion,  and  had  to  send  home  for  lots  of  pills.  I  remem 
ber  Mrs.  Marvel  once  sending  her  four  boxes  of  Brand- 
reth's  at  a  time.  But  she  took  the  first  honours.  At 
the  end  of  her  first  term,  she  came  home,  looking,  as  you 
say,  as  if  she  had  had  a  fever." 

"And  they  sent  her  back  ?" 

"  Why,  yes,  certainly — term  after  term — for  two 
years.  You  know  Mary  was  always  persevering;  and 
BO  was  her  mother.  And  now  they  have  their  reward. 
There  is  not  a  girl  anywhere  who  surpasses  Mary  for 
scholarship." 


LOVE    VS.    HEALTH.  41 

"Truly,  they  have  their  reward — infatuated  people  !" 
murmured  Hasen.  "  Have  they  taken  any  measures  to 
restore  her  health,  Anne  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Mrs.  Marvel  does  not  permit  her  to  do 
any  hard  work.  She  does  not  even  let  her  sweep  her 
own  room  ;  they  keep  a  domestic,  you  know ;  and,  last 
winter,  she  had  an  air-tight  stove  in  her  room,  and  it 
wag  kept  constantly  warm,  day  and  night.  The  draft 
was  opened  early ;  and  Mrs.  Marvel  let  Mary  remain  in 
bed  as  long  as  she  pleased ;  and,  feeling  weak,  she 
seldom  was  inclined  to  rise  before  nine  or  ten." 

"  Go  on,  Anne.  What  other  sanitary  measures  were 
pursued?" 

"Just  such  as  we  all  take,  when  we  are  ill.  She 
doctors,  if  she  is  more  unwell  than  usual ;  and  she  rides 
out  almost  every  pleasant  day.  There  is  nothing  they 
won't  do  for  her.  There  is  no  kind  of  pie  or  cake, 
sweetmeat  or  custard,  that  Mrs.  Marvel  does  not  make 
to  tempt  her  appetite.  If  she  vrants  to  go  to  'the 
plain,'  Mr.  Marvel  harnesses,  and  drives  over.  You 
know,  father  would  think  it  ridiculous  to  do  it  for  me." 

"  Worse  than  ridiculous,  Anne  ! — What  does  the  poor 
girl  do?  How  does  she  amuse  herself?" 

"  I  do  believe,  Julius,  you  are  interested  in  Mary 
Marvel !" 

"  I  am.  I  was  always  curious  as  to  the  different 
modes  of  suicide  people  adopt.  Has  she  any  occupation 
— any  pleasure  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes ;  she  reads  for  ever,  and  studies ;  she  is 
studying  German  now." 

"Poor  Mary  !" 


42  LOVE   VS.    HEALTH. 

u  What  in  the  world  makes  you  pity  Mary,  Julius  ?" 

"Because,  Anne,  she  has  been  deprived  of  nature's 
best  gift — defrauded  of  her  inheritance :  a  sound  con 
stitution  from  temperate,  active  parents.  One  may 
have  all  the  gifts,  graces,  charms,  accomplishments, 
under  Heaven,  and,  if  they  have  not  health,  of  what  use 
or  enjoyment  are  they?  If  that  little,  frail  body  of 
Mary  Marvel's  contained  all  that  I  have  enumerated,  it 
would  be  just  the  reverse  of  Pandora's  box — having 
every  good,  but  one  curse  that  infected  all." 

"  Dear  Julius,  I  cannot  bear  to  hear  you  talk  so  of 
Mary.  I  expected  you  would  like  her  so  much.  I — I — 

hoped .     She  is  so  pretty,  so  lovely — she  is  fit  for 

Heaven.'" 

"  She  may  be,  Anne, — I  do  not  doubt  it ;  but  she  is 
very  unfit  for  earth.  What  has  her  good,  devoted, 
sensible,  well-informed  mother  been  about?  If  Mary 
had  been  taught  the  laws  of  health,  and  obeyed  them,  it 
would  have  been  worth  infinitely  more  to  her  than  all 
she  has  got  at  your  famous  boarding-school.  Ignorance 
of  these  laws  is  culpable  in  the  mothers — disastrous, 
fatal  to  the  daughters.  It  is  a  disgrace  to  our  people. 
The  young  women  now  coming  on,  will  be  as  nervous,  aa 
weak,  as  wretched,  as  their  unhappy  mothers — languish 
ing  embodiments  of  diseases — mementos  of  doctors  and 
pi'1-boxes,  dragging  out  life  in  air-tight  rooms,  religi 
ously  struggling  to  perform  their  duties,  and  dying 
before  they  have  half  finished  the  allotted  term  of  life. 
They  have  no  life — no  true  enjoyment  of  life  !" 

"  What  a  tirade,  Julius !  Any  one  would  think  you 
were  a  cross  old  '>achelor  !" 


LOVE   VS.    HEALTH.  43 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  Anne,  it  is  because  I  am 
a  young  bachelor  and  desire  not  to  be  a  much  older  one, 
that  I  am  so  earnest  on  this  subject.  I  have  been 
travelling  now  for  two  months  in  rail-cars  and  steamers, 
and  I  could  fill  a  medical  journal  with  cases  of  young 
women,  married  and  single,  whom  I  have  met  from  town 
and  country,  with  every  ill  that  flesh  is  heir  to.  I  have 
been  an  involuntary  auditor  of  their  charming  little  con 
fidences  of  '  chronic  headaches,'  '  nervous  feelings,' 
'  weak  backs,'  '  neuralgia,'  and  Heaven  knows  what  all !" 

"  Oh,  Julius  !  Julius  !" 

"  It  is  true,  Anne.  And  their  whole  care  is,  gentle 
and  simple,  to  avoid  the  air ;  never  to  walk  when  they 
p-an  ride ;  never  to  use  cold  water  when  they  can  get 
warm ;  never  to  eat  bread  when  they  can  get  cake,  and 
so  on,  and  so  on,  through  the  chapter.  In  the  matter 
of  eating  and  drinking,  and  such  little  garnitures  as 
smoking  and  chewing,  the  men  are  worse.  Fortunately, 
their  occupations  save  most  of  them  from  the  invalidism 
of  the  women.  You  think  Mary  Marvel  beautiful?" 

"No — not  beautiful,  perhaps, — but  very,  very  pretty, 
and  so  loveable !'' 

"  Well,"  rejoined  Julius,  coldly,  after  SDme  hesitation, 
"  Mary  is  pretty ;  her  eye  is  beautiful ;  her  whole  face 
intelligent,  but  so  pale,  so  thin — her  lips  so  colourless — 
her  hands  so  transparent,  that  I  cannot  look  at  her  with 
any  pleasure.  I  declare  to  you,  Anne,  when  I  see  a 
woman  with  a  lively  eye,  a  clear,  healthy  skin,  that 
shows  the  air  of  Heaven  visits  it  daily — it  may  be, 
roughly — if  it  pleases  Heaven  to  roughen  the  day, — an 


44  LOVE   VS.    HEALTH. 

clastic,  vigorous  step,  and  a  strong,  cheerful  voice,  I  am 
ready  to  fall  down  and  do  her  homage !" 

Julius  Hasen  was  sincere  and  zealous  in  his  theory, 
but  he  is  not  the  first  man  whose  theories  Love  has 
overthrown.  "Love  laughs  at  locksmiths,"  -and  mis 
chievously  ir.ocks  at  the  stoutest  bars  and  bolts  of 
resolution. 

Hasen  passed  the  summer  in  his  native  town.  He 
renewed  hid  intimacy  with  his  old  neighbours.  He  per 
ceived  in  Mary  graces  and  qualities  that  made  him  feel 
the  heavenly  and  forget  the  earthly ;  and,  in  spite  of 
his  wise,  well-considered  resolution,  in  three  months  he 
had  impressed  on  her  "pale  cheek"  the  kiss  of  betrothal, 
and  slipt  on  the  third  finger  of  her  "  transparent  hand," 
the  "engagement  ring!" 

But,  we  must  do  Julius  Hasen  justice.  When  his 
laughing  sister  rallied  him  on  his  inconsistency,  he  said — 

"  You  are  light,  Anne ;  but  I  adhere  to  my  text, 
though  I  must  now  uphold  it  as  a  beacon — not  as  an 
example.  I  must  say  with  the  Turk — '  It  was  written.'  " 

He  was  true  to  himself  and  true  to  his  wife;  and,  at 
the  risk  of  shocking  our  young  lady  readers,  we  must 
betray  that,  after  the  wedding-ring,  Hasen's  first  gift  to 
Mary  was — "  The  Principles  of  Physiology  applied  to 
the  Preservation  of  Health,  and  the  Improvement  of 
Physical  and  Mental  Education  ;  by  Andrew  Combe, 
M.  D."  This  book  (which  should  be  studied  by  every 
mother  in  the  United  States)  he  accompanied  by  a 
solemn  adjuration,  that  she  would  study  and  apply  it. 
He  did  not  stop  here.  After  his  marriage,  he  bought 
two  riding-horses — mounted  his  bride  on  one  and  him- 


THE   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  45 

self  on  the  other,  and  thus  performed  the  greater  part 
of  the  journey  to  Indiana — only  taking  a  rail-car  for 
convenience,  or  a  steamer  for  repose ! 

And,  arrived  at  his  Western  home,  and  with  the 
hearty  acquiescence  of  his  wife,  who  only  needed  to 
know  the  right  to  pursue  it,  she  began  a  physical  life  in 
obedience  to  the  laws  laid  down  by  the  said  oracle, 
Andrew  Combe. 

Last  fall,  six  years  since  his  marriage,  he  brought  his 
wife  and  two  children  to  visit  his  Eastern  friends.  In 
reply  to  compliments  on  all  hands,  on  his  wife's  improved 
health  and  beauty,  he  laughingly  proposed  to  build,  on 
the  site  of  the  old  Indian  dwelling,  a  quadrangular 
Temple,  dedicated  to  the  Four  Ministers  to  Health — 
Air,  Water,  Exercise,  and  Regimen ! 


THE  YOUNG  HOUSEKEEPER. 

"  I  HOPE,  Emily,  that  you  don't  think  I  expect  you  to 
work — to  spend  the  bright  morning  hours  in  the  kitchen, 
when  we  commence  keeping  house,"  said  George  Bren- 
ton  to  his  young  wife. 

This  remark  was  made  as  he  left  the  room,  in  reply 
to  something  which  Emily  had  been  saying  relative  to 
their  projected  plan  of  housekeeping.  Mrs.  Anderson, 
her  mother,  entered  the  parlour  at  one  door,  as  her  son- 
in-law  left  it  by  another.  "  And  I  hope,"  said  she,  "  that, 
for  your  own  sake  as  well  as  your  husband's,  yon 


46  THE   10UNG    HOUSEKEEPER. 

will  not  think  of  fulfilling  his  expectations — that  is, 
strictly  speaking/' 

"  And  why  not  ?  George  is  always  pleased  to  have 
any  suggestion  of  his  attended  to,  however  indirectly  it 
may  be  made." 

"  He  would  not  he  pleased,  if  on  trial  it  should  com 
promise  any  of  his  customary  enjoyments.  George's 
income,  as  yet,  is  not  sufficient  to  authorize  you  to  keep 
more  than  one  girl,  who  must  be  the  maid-of-all-work ; 
and  even  if  you  should  be  so  fortunate  as  to  procure 
one  who  understands  the  different  kinds  of  household 
labour,  there  will  be  times  when  it  will  be  necessary  for 
you  to  perform  some  part  of  it  yourself — much  more  to 
superintend  it." 

"But,  mother,  you  know  how  I  always  hated  the 
kitchen." 

"  This  is  a  dislike  which  necessity  will,  or  at  /east 
ought  to  overcome.  You  have  never  felt  that  there  was 
much  responsibility  attached  to  the  performance  of  such 
household  tasks  as  I  have  always  recquired  of  you,  and 
in  truth  there  never  has  been,  as  I  could  always  have 
very  well  dispensed  with  them.  I  required  them  for 
ycur  own  good,  rather  than  my  OAvn.  Before  habits 
of  industry  are  formed,  necessity  is  the  only  thing 
which  will  overcome  our  natural  propensity  to  indulge 
in  indolence." 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  am  not  indolent.  I  always  have 
my  music,  embroidery,  or  reading  to  attend  to.  As  to 
being  chained  down  to  household  drudgery,  I  cannot 
think  of  it,  and  I  am  certain  that  it  would  be  as  much 
against  George's  wishes  as  mine  " 


THE   YOUNG   HOUSEKEEPER.  47 

"  It  would  undoubtedly  be  gratifying  to  him,  -when 
ever  he  had  an  hour  or  two,  which  he  could  spend  at 
home,  to  see  you  tastefully  dressed,  and  to  have  you  at 
leisure  so  as  to  devote  your  time  wholly  to  him." 

"  You  make  George  out  to  be  extremely  selfish,  which 
I  am  sure  he  is  not." 

"No,  not  more  so  than  we  all  are." 

"  Why,  mother,  I  am  sure  you  are  not  selfish.  You 
are  always  ready  to  sacrifice  your  own  enjoyment  for  the 
sake  of  promoting  that  of  others." 

"  I  have  been  subjected  to  a  longor  \.ov?se  of  discipline, 
than  cither  you  or  George.  I  have  lived  long  enough 
to  know,  that  the  true  secret  of  making  ourselves  happy 
is  to  endeavour  to  make  others  so.  This  is,  at  least,  t\  e 
case  with  all  those  whose  finer  sensibilities  have  not  been 
blunted,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  have  been  rightly 
cultivated.  But  it  will  do  no  good  to  enter  into  a  n:eta- 
physical  discussion  of  the  subject.  The  course  proper 
to  be  pursued  by  a  woman,  whose  husband's  income  is 
rather  limited,  appears  to  me  perfectly  plain." 

"  The  course  proper  for  me  to  pursue,  is  that  which 
will  best  please  George." 

"  Certainly,  and  that  is  precisely  what  I  would  advise 
you  to  do;  but  I  don't  think  that  literally  acting  upon 
this  suggestion  of  his,  respecting  domestic  duties,  will 
please  him  for  any  great  length  of  time." 

Emily  made  no  reply  to  this.  She  had  decided  in  her 
own  mind  to  obey  the  wishes  of  George,  more  especially 
as  they  exactly  accorded  with  her  own. 

A  few  weeks  from  the  time  of  the  foregoing  conversa 
tion,  George  and  Emily  Brenton  commenced  houseketp- 


4?  THE   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER. 

ing.  Their  house  was  neatly  and  handsomely  furnished, 
and  through  the  influence  of  Emily's  mother,  Experience 
Breck,  a  girl  thirty-five  years  old,  who  well  understood 
domestic  labour,  undertook  to  perform  the  duties  of 
chambermaid,  laundress,  and  cook,  for  what  all  concerned 
considered  a  reasonable  compensation. 

Their  home,  to  make  use  of  George's  v.ords,  the  first 
time  he  saw  Emily's  parents  after  everything  was  satis 
factorily  arranged,  "  was  a  little  paradise.  Pedy  (the 
diminutive  for  Experience)  was  the  best  of  cooks  and 
clear-starchers,  and  never  had  he  tasted  such  savory 
soups,  and  meat  roasted  so  exactly  to  ft,  turn,  or  sucl 
puddings  and  such  pastry ;  and  never  had  it  been  4u 
fortune  to  wear  shirt-bosoms  and  collars,  which  fcu  com 
pletely  emulated  the  drifted  snow/ 

"And  Emily  too — she  was  the  dearest  an,i  nret 
cheerful  of  wives,  and  so  bright  an  atmosphere  alwayf 
surrounded  her,  that  one  might  almost  hiiaglne  that  she 
was  a  bundle  of  animated  sunbeams.  She  was  always 
ready  to  sing  and  play  to  him,  or  to  listen  while  he  read 
to  her  from  some  favourite  author." 

This  eulogy  was  succeeded  by  an  invitation  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Anderson  to  dine  with  them  the  ensuing  day, 
that  they  might  judge  for  themselves  that  he  did  not 
colour  the  picture  of  their  domestic  bliss  too  highly. 

The  invitation  was  accepted  ;  and  Emily  could  not  help 
taking  her  mother  aside  to  tell  her  that  since  they  saw 
each  other,  she  had  done  nothing  but  read  and  play  on 
the  baautiful  harp  her  uncle  gave  her,  except  that  wher. 
sl-.e  grew  tiled  of  these,  she  sewed  a  little  ;  "and  yet," 


THE    YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  49 

she  added,  with  a  bright  smile,  "  George  has  never 
given  me  an  unkind  look — much  more  an  unkind  word." 

"  And  you  have  been  housekeeping  four  whole  days." 

*•  Eight  days,  mother  !" 

"It  is  only  four  days  since  everything  was  arranged, 
and  you  commenced  taking  your  meals  regularly  at 
home." 

"  I  know,  but  then  if  we  can  live  happily  four  days. 
Tve  can  four  years." 

"Yes,  if  Pedy  could  always  live  with  you.' 

"  She  appears  to  be  quite  well  satisfied  with  her  situa 
tion,"  was  Emily's  answer. 

There  was  one  at  work,  however,  though  neither  he 
nor  they  realized  it,  who  was  sapping  their  happiness  at 
its  very  foundation.  This  was  an  honest,  intelligent 
farmer,  by  the  name  of  Simon  Lundley,  who  one  day, 
when  in  the  city,  happened  to  overhear  the  praises 
bestowed  on  Pedy  Breck  by  George  Brenton,  touching 
her  excellence  as  a  cook  and  clear- starcher. 

"If,"  thought  he,  "she  could  do  these  well,  the  same 
good  judgment  would  direct  her  how  to  excel  in  making 
butter  and  cheese ;  and  as  his  mother,  who  kept  his 
house,  was  growing  old  and  infirm,  it  appeared  to  him, 
that  it  would  be  convenient  for  her  to  have  some  person 
to  assist  her  in  the  performance  of  these  and  other 
onerous  duties  belonging  to  the  in-door  work  of  a  farm. 
He  had  seen  Pedy  a  few  months  previous,  when  on  a 
visit  to  a  sister  who  resided  in  the  neighbourhood  of  hia 
home,  and  remembered  of  having  thought  it  strange  that 
she  had  never  married  as  well  as  her  sister,  as  she  was 
remarkably  good-looking."  Simon  Lundley,  therefore, 
4 


80  THE   YOUNG   HOUSEKEEPER. 

the  next  Sunday,  about  sunset,  arrayed  in  a  suit  of 
substantial  blue  broadcloth,  boldly  presented  himself  at 
George  Brenton's  front  door,  and  inquired  if  Miss  Breck 
was  at  home.  It  proved  to  be  a  fortunate,  as  well  as  a 
bold  step.  Pcdy  recognised  him  at  once,  and  had  a 
kind  of  a  vague  prescience  as  to  the  object  of  his  visit, 
or  such  might  have  been  the  inference  drawn  from  the  deep 
crimson  which  suddenly  suffused  her  cheeks. 

From  that  time  he  visited  her  regularly  e^ciy  Sunday, 
and  it  was  soon  decided  that  they  should  be  married  in 
season  to  enable  her  'to  pack  the  fall  butter.  This  de 
cision  she,  for  sometime,  delayed  to  communicate  to 
Ernily,  from  sheer  bashfulness.  She  could  not,  she  said, 
when  she  at  last  had  wrought  herself  up  to  what  ap 
peared  to  her  the  very  pinnacle  of  boldness,  make  up  her 
mind  to  tell  her  before,  for  the  life  of  her,  but  then,  she 
did  suppose  that  Simon  kind  of  had  her  promise  that  she 
would  be  married  to  him  in  just  three  weeks  from  the 
next  Sunday. 

Emily  immediately  called  on  her  mother  to  communi 
cate  to  her  the  melancholy  information.  Mrs.  Anderson 
saw  that  these  were  what  might  be  termed  "  minor  trials," 
for  her  daughter  in  prospective.  She  hoped  that  she 
would  be  discreet  enough  not  to  allow  them  to  be  mag 
nified  into  what  might  appropriately  be  called  major 
trials. 

"Don't  you  think,  mother,"  said  Emily,  "that  you 
can  manage  to  find  me  a  girl  as  good  as  Pedy  ?" 

"  I  think  it  will  be  impossible.  Pedy  is  a  kind  of  rara 
avis  in  all  that  appertains  to  housekeeping.  She  excela 
in  everything.  You  will  be  obliged  now  to  limit  your 


THE   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  51 


expectations.     If  you  can  obtain  a  girl  who  knows 
to  cook  well,  it  is  the  best  you  can  hope  to  do.     Even 
that,  I  am  afraid,  will  prove  very  difficult." 

"It  appears  to  me  that  if  girls  who  are  obliged  tc 
work  for  a  living  understood  what  was  for  their  good, 
they  would  be  at  more  pains  to  inform  themselves  rela 
tive  to  what  is  expected  of  them." 

"A  great  difficulty  lies  in  the  want  of  competent 
teachers.  Such  things  are  not  known  by  instinct  ;  and 
experience,  though  a  good,  is  a  slow  teacher." 

"  If  I  have  got  to  stay  in  the  kitchen  all  the  time  to 
teach  a  girl,  I  may  as  Avell  do  the  work  myself." 

"  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for  you,  but  you  must  not 
expect  me  to  find  you  a  girl  who  will  fill  Pe'dy's  place, 
and  do  not,  for  your  own  sake  —  leaving  George  out  of 
the  question  —  be  too  afraid  of  the  kitchen." 

Mrs.  Anderson  fulfilled  the  promise  she  made  her 
daughter.  She  did  her  best,  and  felt  tolerably  well 
satisfied  at  being  able  to  find  a  girl  who  had  done  the 
cooking  in  a  large  family  in  the  country  for  more  than 
a  year. 

Pedy  Breck  left  Mrs.  Brenton  on  Saturday  after  tea, 
and  Deborah  Leach  took  her  place  on  Monday  morning. 
Emily  gave  her  a  fevr  general  directions,  and,  as  usual, 
seated  herself  in  the  parlour  ^ii.h  her  books,  her  music,  and 
her  embroidery,  as  resources  against  ennui.  Deborah, 
also,  was  abundantly  provided  with  the  means^to  keep  her 
out  of  idleness.  She  said  to  herself,  after  receiving  t^e 
directions  from  Eniily,  tl-at  khe  "guessed  there  wcul'iu't 
be  time  for  much  grass  to  grow  under  her  feet  lhat  day." 

Deborah  did  not  possess  Pedy's  "sleight"  at  doing 


62  THE   YOUNG   HOUSEKEEPER. 

housework,  and  she  felt  a  little  discouraged  when  she 
found  that,  besides  washing  and  preparing  the  dinner, 
Bhe  would  be  obliged  to  wash  the  dishes  and  do  the 
chamber-work. 

"  I  should  think  that  she  might  take  care  of  her  own 
chamber,"  she  said  to  herself;  "and  I  don't  think  it 
would  hurt  her  delicate  hands  a  great  deal,  even  if  sho 
should  wash  the  dishes." 

In  consideration  of  its  being  washing-day,  George  had 
Bent  home  beefsteak  for  dinner,  and  Pedy,  the  same  as  she 
always  did,  had  made  some  pies  on  Saturday,  and  placed 
them  in  the  refrigerator  for  Sunday  and  Monday.  De 
borah  had  not  been  much  accustomed  to  broiling  steaks, 
as  the  family  where  she  had  been  living  considered  it 
more  economical,  when  butter  brought  such  a  high  price, 
to  fry  them  with  slices  of  pork ;  but  knowing  the  cele 
brity  of  her  predecessor  in  everything  pertaining  to  the 
culinary  art,  she  exerted  her  skill  to  the  utmost,  and 
succeeded  in  doing  them  very  well,  and  in  tolerable  sea 
son,  so  that  George,  after  he  came  home,  had  to  wait  for 
dinner  only  ten  minutes,  which  passed  away  very  quickly, 
as  time  always  did  when  he  was  with  Emily. 

Deborah's  first  attempt  at  pastry  was  a  decided  failure. 
It  was  plain  that  she  had  never  been  initiated  into  the 
mysteries  of  making  puff  paste,  nor  did  she,  when  telling 
over  what  she  called  her  grievances  to  a  friend,  think  it 
worth  while,  she  said,  "  to  pomper  the  appetite  by  making 
pies  sweet  as  sugar  itself,  when  there  were  thousands  of 
poor  souls  in  the  world  that  would  jump  at  a  piece  of  pie 
a  good  deal  sourer  than  what  Mr.  Brenton  and  his  idle, 
delicate  wife  pretended  wasn't  fit  to  eat.  She  was  sure 


THE    YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  53 

that  she  put  two  heapin'  spoonfuls  of  sugar  into  the 
gooseberry  pie,  and  half  as  much  into  the  apple  pie,  and 
Miss  Brenton  might  make  her  fruit  pies,  as  she  called 
'em,  herself  the  next  time,  for  'twas  a  privilege  she  didn't 
covet  bj  no  means." 

But  Mrs.  Brenton  did  not  covet  the  privilege  more 
than  she  did.  and  after  a  great  show  of  firmness  on  tb.3 
subject,  declaring  to  herself  and  her  intimate  friend  that 
she  never  would  give  up,  and  that  there  was  no  use  talkin' 
about  it,  she  concluded  she  would  try  again,  if  Mrs. 
Brenton  would  stand  right  at  her  elbow  and  tell  her  tho 
exact  quantity  of  ingredences  she  must  put  into  each.  pio. 

"  I  s'pose  you  calc'late  to  do  the  ironing  ?"  she  said,  to 
Emily,  on  Saturday  morning. 

"No,  I  am  sure  I  don't,"  was  Emily's  reply.  "I 
thought  you  had  done  it." 

"  Well,  I  havn't — I  expected  that  you  were  agoing  t© 
do  it.  Miss  Hodges,  the  woman  I  lived  with  before  I 
came  here,  always  did  it,  and  she  was  the  richest  and 
genteelest  woman  in  the  place.  She  used  to  say  there 
wasn't  that  girl  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  that  she  vouirt 
trust  to  starch  and  iron  her  fine  linens  and  muslins,  a:?.d 
laces." 

Emily  merely  said  that  she  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
doing  such  things  herself,  and  that  she  should  expect  her 
to  do  them. 

Deborah  went  abcut  her  task  y-'/ry  unwillingly,  She 
told  Emily  that  she  knew  f/bo  should  sp'ile  the  whole  let, 
and  she  proved  a  true  prophetess.  The  shirt-bosoms  wad 
collars  borfc  indisputable  ovv?encfc  that  she  v»e,s  act  stated 
lor  fuel,  the  hot  flat-irco.  La/ring  kit  its  full  impress  upoa 


54  'JI1E   YOUNQ   HOL'^KLEPKR. 

some,  while  u  Charcoal  Skbtchds,"  of  a  kind  nsver 
dreamed  of  by  Keal,  were  conspicuous  on  others.  As 
for  the  muslins  and  laces,  biinc  of  a  frailer  fabric,  t£f  y 
gave  way  beneath  the  vigorous  treatment  to  vrhica  thty 
were  subjected,  and  exhibited  move  wrecks  of  their  former 
selves.  Not  a  single  article  was  wearable  which  had 
passed  through  the  severe  ordeal  of  being  starched  and 
ironed  by  Deborah,  and  what  was  still  more  lamentable, 
many  of  them  could  not  even,  like  an  antique  painting 
or  statue,  be  restored. 

"  This  is  too  bad,-"  said  George,  as  he  contempiatsd 
his  soiled  and  scorched  linen.  "  It  appears  to  n\>?, 
Emily,  that  you  might  have  seen  what  the  girl  was  al;out 
before  she  spoiled  the  whole." 

"  How  could  I,"  said  Emily,  "  when  she  was  in  tho 
kitchen  and  I  was  in  the  parlour — hem-stitching  yo^or 
linen  handkerchiefs?  Pedy  never  needed  any  oversee 
ing." 

Some  linen  of  a  coarser  texture  which  h  iu  passed 
through  Pedy's  hands,  was  obliged  to  be  resorted  to  on 
the  present  occasion,  while  Emily  concealed  her  chagrin 
from  George  on  account  of  the  destruction  of  some  Brus 
sels  lace,  the  gift  of  the  same  generous  uncle  who  gave 
her  the  harp.  She  silently  made  up  her  mind  that  for 
the  future  she  would  not  trust  such  articles  to  the  unskil 
ful  Deborah. 

Hitherto  George,  who  probably  had  recalled  to  mind 
what  he  had  said  to  Emily  previous  to  commencing  house- 
keeping,  had  never,  except  in  a  playful  manner,  alluded 
to  the  ill-dressed  food  which  daily  made  its  appearance 
on  the  table.  To-day,  however,  when  they  returned 


THE   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  55 

from  church  and  sat  down  to  dinner,  probably  owing  to 
being  a  little  sore  on  the  subject  of  the  soiled  linen, 
Emily  saw  him  knit  his  brows  in  rather  a  portentous 
manner,  while,  in  no  very  amiable  tone  of  voice,  he 
Baid — 

"  It  appears  to  me  that  this  girl  don't  understand  how 
to  do  anything  as  it  ought  to  be  done — not  even  to  boil 
a  piece  of  corned  beef.  This  is  as  salt  as  the  ocean,  and 
hard  as  a  flint.  If  the  girl  has  common  sense,  I  am  sure 
6he  could  do  better  if  you  v.^-JJ  ~ive  her  a  few  directions. 
I  confess  that  I  am  tira,3  uf  oatir^  ill-oooked  meat,  half- 
done  vegetables,  anl  heavy  bro;-«l,  and  of  drinking  a 
certain  muddy  decoction,  dignified  by  the  name  of  coifee." 

"  iv-ioli  food  is,  of  course,  1*0  uioi  e  palatable  to  me  than 
to  you :  but  I  thought,  by  v/hat  I  have  heard  you  say, 
that  you  would  not  be  pleased  when  you  came  home  to 
dinner  to  see  me  with  a  flushed  face  and  in  an  unbecom 
ing  dress,  which  must  be  the  case  if  I  undertake  to  do 
the  principal  part  of  the  cooking  myself,  and  to  superin 
tend  the  whole." 

"  We  must  try  and  get  s^me  one  that  will  do  better," 
said  George. 

"  I  don't  think  that  it  will  be  of  any  use,"  replied 
Emily.  "  We  may  as  well  try  her  another  week." 

The  truth  was,  she  had  had,  for  several  days,  a  dim 
perception  that  the  indolence  she  had  indulged  in  since 
released  from  her  mother's  influence,  was  not  half  so  de 
lightful  as  she  had  anticipated.  Her  physical  and  mental 
energies  had  regained  30  entirely  quiescent,  that  she  be 
gan  to  think  it  would  be  rather  a  luxury  to  be  a  little 
fatigued.  She  moreover  half  suspected  that  Deborah 


56  THE   YOUNG    HOUSEKEEPER.  * 

might,  and  would  do  better,  if  not  embarrassed  with  that 
feeling  of  hurry  and  perplexity,  which  so  many  of  what 
in  colloquial  phrase  are  sometimes  termed  slow-moulded 
people,  experience  when  obliged  to  divide  their  attention 
among  a  variety  of  objects. 

Monday  morning,  Emily  determined  that  she  would 
turn  over  a  new  leaf:  and  a  bright  leaf  it  proved  to  be. 
She  told  Deborah,  that  for  the  future  she  should  take 
care  of  her  own  room,  prepare  the  dessert,  and  starch  and 
iron  all  the  nicer  artio!o3. 

"I  am  glad  to  heir  yoa  say  so,  ma'am,  I  am -sure," 
said  Deborah,  "  for  when  I  have  to  keep  going  from  one 
thing  to  another,  my  head  spins  round  like  a  top,  and  I 
can't  do  a  single  thing  as  it  ought  to  be  done.  How 
Pedy  Breck  got  along  so  smooth  and  slick  with  th-i  work, 
I  don't  know,  nor  nerer  shall.  I  can  make  as  good  light 
bread  as  ever  was — I  won't  give  up  to  anybody — hi  it 
when  I  made  the  last,  my  mind  was  all  stirred  up  with 
a  puddin'-stick  as  'twere,  and  I  couldn't  remember  whe 
ther  I  put  any  yeast  into  it  or  not." 

From  this  time  all  went  well.  Deborah,  in  her  slow 
way,  proved  to  be  a  treasure.  She  told  Emily  that, 
"Give  her  time,  nobody  could  beat  her  at  a  boiled  diah, 
apple-dumplings,  or  a  loaf  of  bread,"  and  the  result 
proved  that  her  words  were  no  vain  boast. 

"  I  have  concluded  to  follow  your  advice,"  said  Frdly, 
the  next  time  she  saw  her  mother,  "  and  lock  i/ato  the 
kitchen  occasionally." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  kayo  no  doubt  that 
you  will  enjoy  yourself  much  better  for  it." 

"  I  am  certain  that  I  shall — I  do  already.     You  can't 


TO   AN    ABSENT    WIFE.  57 

imagine  what  queer,  fretful-looking  lines  were  beginning 
to  show  themselves  on  George's  brow.  He  would  have 
looked  old  enough  for  a  grandfather  in  a  few  years,  if  I 
had  gone  on  trying  to  realize  the  hope  he  expressed,  that 
I  would  abstain  from  the  performance  of  all  household 
tasks.  And  I  should  have  looked  quite  as  old  as  he,  I 
suspect,  for  I  believe  that  the  consciousness  of  neglected 
duties  is  one  of  the  heaviest  burdens  which  can  be  boine." 


TO  AN  ABSENT  WIFE. 

'Tis  Morn : — the  sea  breeze  seems  to  bring 
Joy,  health,  and  freshness  on  its  wing; 
Bright  flowers,  to  me  all  strange  and  new, 
Are  glittering  in  the  early  dew, 
And  perfumes  rise  from  every  grove, 
As  incense  to  the  clouds  that  move 
Like  spirits  o'er  yon  welkin  clear,— 
Hut  I  am  sad — thou  art  not  here  ! 

'Tis  Noon  : — a  calm,  unbroken  sleep 
Is  on  the  blue  waves  of  the  deep ; 
A  soft  haze,  like  a  fairy  dream, 
Is  floating  over  wood  and  stream, 
And  many  a  broad  magnolia  flower, 
Within  its  shadowy  woodland  bower, 
Is  gleaming  like  a  lovely  star,— 
But  I  am  sad — thou  art  afar  ! 

'Tis  Eve : — on  earth  the  sunset  skies 
Are  painting  their  own  Eden  dyoe; 


5$  THE   WORD   OF   PRAfSE. 

The  stars  come  down  and  trembling  glow, 
Like  blossoms  in  the  waves  below  ; 
And  like  an  unseen  sprite,  the  breeze 
Seems  lingering  'midst  these  orange  trees, 
Breathing  its  music  round  the  spot, — 
But  I  am  sad — I  see  ihee  nol! 

'Tis  Midnight : — with  a  soothing  spell 
The  far-off  tones  of  ocean  swell — 
Soft  as  a  mother's  cadence  mild, 
Low  bending  o'er  her  sleeping  child  ; 
And  on  each  wandering  breeze  are  heard 
The  rich  notes  of  the  mocking  bird, 
In  many  a  wild  and  wondrous  lay, — 
But  I  am  sad — thou  art  away  ! 

I  sink  in  dreams : — low,  sweet,  and  clear, 
Thy  own  dear  voice  is  in  my  ear  : —     >. 
Around  my  cheek  thy  tresses  twine — 
Thy  own  loved  hand  is  clasped  in  mine. 
Thy  own  soft  lip  to  mine  is  pressed — 
Thy  head  is  pillowed  on  my  breast ; 
Oh,  I  have  all  my  heart  holds  dear, 
And  I  am  happy — thou  art  here  ! 


THE  WORD  OF  PRAISE 

-A  LITTLE  thing  is  a  sunbeam — a  very  little  thing.  It 
streams  through  our  casement,  making  the  cheerful  room 
still  more  cheerful ;  and  yet  so  accustomed  are  we  to  its 
presence,  that  we  notice  it  not,  and  heed  not  its  exhila 
rating  effect. 

But  its  absence  would  be  quickly  seen  and  felt.     Tho 


THE    WORD   OF   PRAISE.  59 

unfortunate  prisoner  in  his  dimly-lighted  cell  would  hail 
with  rapture  th;i  t  blessed  stream  of  light ;  and  the  scarcely 
less  imprisoned  inmates  of  the  more  obscure  streets  of 
our  crowded  cities  would  welcome  it  as  a  messenger  fr  jin 
Heaven. 

It  is  even  thus  with  the  sunbeams  of  the  human  heart. 
Trifling  things  they  are  in  themselves,  for  the 'heart  ia 
wonderfully  constituted,  and  it  vibrates  to  the  slightest 
touch ;  but  without  them  life  is  a  blank — all  seems  cold 
and  lifeless  as  the  marble  slab  which  marks  the  spot 
where  the  departed  loved  one  lies. 

A  gloomy  home  was  that  of  Henry  Howard,  and  yet 
all  the  elements  of  human  happiness  seemed  to  be  there. 
Wealth  sufficient  to  secure  all  the  comforts  and  many  of 
the  luxuries  of  life,  was  theirs,  and  both  husband  and 
wife  were  regarded  by  their  numerous  acquaintances  as 
exceedingly  intelligent  and  estimable  people — and  so 
indeed  they  were.  The  light  tread  of  childhood  was  not 
wanting  in  their  home,  although  its  merry  laugh  was 
seldom  heard,  for  the  little  children  seemed  to  possess  a 
gravity  beyond  their  years,  and  that  glad  joyousness 
which  it  is  so  delightful  to  witness  in  infancy,  was  with 
them  seldom  or  never  visible.  , 

Life's  sunbeams  seemed  strangely  wanting,  yet  the 
why  and  wherefore  was  to  the  casual  observer  an  unfa 
thomable  mystery. 

Years  before,  that  wife  and  mother  had  left  the  home 
of  her  childhood  a  happy  and  trusting  bride.  Scarcely 
seventeen,  the  love  which  she  had  bestowed  upon  him 
who  was  now  her  husband,  was  the  first  pure  affections 
of  her  virgin  heart,  and  in  many  respects  he  was  worthy 


60  THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE. 

of  hor  love,  and,  as  far  as  was  in  his  nature,  returned 
it.  Her  senior  by  many  years,  he  was  possessed  of  high 
moral  principles,  good  intellectual  endowments,  and  an 
unblemished  reputation  among  his  fellow  men. 

But  there  was  a  cold,  repulsive  manner,  at  variance 
sometimes  with  his  more  interior  feelings,  which  could 
ill  meet  the  warm,  affectionate  disposition  of  his  young 
wife,  who,  cherished  and  petted  in  her  father's  house, 
looked  for  the  same  fond  endearments  from  him  to  whom 
she  had  given  all. 

Proud  of  her  beauty  and  intelligence,  charmed  with 
her  sprightliness  and  wit,  the  man  was  for  a  time  lost  in 
the  lover,  and  enough  of  fondness  and  affection  were 
manifested  to  satisfy  the  confiding  Mary,  who  had  in 
vested  her  earthly  idol  with  every  attribute  of  perfection. 
But  as  months  passed  on,  and  he  again  became  immersed 
in  his  business,  his  true  character,  or,  more  properly 
speaking,  his  habitual  manners,  were  again  resumed,  and 
the  heart  of  the  wife  was  often  pained  by  an  appearance 
of  coldness  and  indifference,  which  seemed  to  chill  and 
repulse  the  best  affections  of  L.-r  nature. 

Tears  and  remonstrance  were  useless,  for  the  husband 
was  himself  unaware  of  the  change.  Was  not  every 
comfort  amply  provided,  every  request  complied  with  ? 
What  more  could  any  reasonable  woman  desire  ? 

Alas  !  he  knew  but  little  of  a  woman's  heart ;  of  that 
fountain  of  love  which  is  perpetually  gushing  forth 
toward  him  who  first  caused  its  waters  to  flow:  and  still 
less  did  he  know  of  the  fearful  effect  of  the  constant 
repressing  of  each  warm  affection.  He  dreamed  not 
that  the  loving  heart  could  become  cold  and  dead,  and 


THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE.  61 

that  his  own  icy  nature  would  soon '  be  reflected  in  the 
devoted  being  who  now  clung  to  him  so  fondly. 

It  was  but  in  little  things  that  he  was  deficient,  mere 
trifles,  but  still  they  constituted  the  happiness  or  woe  oi' 
the  wife  of  his  bosom. 

The  loving  glance  was  seldom  returned,  the  affectionate 
pressure  of  the  hand  seemed  unfelt,  the  constant  effort 
to  please  remained  unnoticed.  One  word  of  praise,  one 
kindly  look,  was  all  that  was  desired,  but  these  were 
withheld,  and  the  charm  of  life  was  gone. 

Gradual  was  the  change.  Bitter  tears  were  shed,  and 
earnest  endeavours  to  produce  a  happier  state  of  things 
were  sometimes  made,  but  in  vain.  Oh  !  could  the  hus 
band  but  have  known  how  wistfully  that  young  creature 
often  gazed  upon  him  as  he  sat  at  the  evening  meal  upon 
his  return  from  business,  arid  partook  of  luxuries  Avhich 
her  hand  had  prepared  in  the  hope  of  eliciting  some 
token  of  approbation — could  he  have  seen  the  anxious 
care  with  which  domestic  duties  were  superintended,  the 
attention  paid  to  the  toilette,  the  constant  regard  to  his 
most  casually  expressed  wishes,  surely,  surely  he  would 
have  renounced  for  ever  that  cold,  repulsive  manner,  and 
clasped  to  his  bosom  the  gentle  being  whom  he  had  so 
lately  vowed  to  love  and  cherish. 

But  he  saw  it  not — felt  it  not.  Still  proud  of  her 
beauty  and  talents,  he  loved  to  exhibit  her  to  an  admir 
ing  world,  but  the  fond  endearments  of  home  were  want- 
.ng.  He  knew  nothing  of  the  yearnings  of  that  devoted 
heart ;  and  while  the  slightest  deviation  from  his  wishes 
was  noticed  and  reprimanded,  the  eager  and  intense  de 


62  THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE. 

sire  to  please  was  unheeded — the  earnestly  desired  won! 
of  praise  was  never  spoken. 

The  first  year  of  wedded  life  passed  away,  and  a  ne^v 
chord  was  awakened.  Mary  had  become  a  mother  ;  and 
as  she  pressed  the  babe  to  her  bosom,  new  hopes  were 
aroused.  The  clouds  which  had  gathered  around  her 
seemed  passing  away,  and  the  cheering  sunbeams  again 
broke  forth.  The  manifest  solicitude  of  her  husband  in 
the  hour  of  danger,  the  affection  with  which  he  had  gazed 
on  the  countenance  of  his  first-born,  were  promises  of 
happy  days  to  come. 

But,  alas  !  these  hopes  were  but  illusory.  All  that  a 
father  could  do  for  the  welfare  of  an  infant  was  scrupu 
lously  performed,  but  its  expanding  intellect,  its  innocent 
playfulness,  soon  remained  unmarked — apparently  un- 
cared  for. 

"Is  he  not  lovely?"  exclaimed  the  fond  mother,  as 
the  babe  stretched  his  little  hands  and  crowed  a  welcome 
as  the  father  entered. 

"  He  seems  to  be  a  good,  healthy  child,"  was  the  quiet 
reply.  "  I  see  nothing  particularly  lovely  in  an  infant 
six  months  old,  and  if  I  did  I  would  not  tell  it  so.  Praise 
is  very  injurious  to  children,  and  you  should  school  your 
self  from  the  first,  Mary,  to  restrain  your  feelings,  and 
utter  no  expressions  which  will  have  a  tendency  to  foster 
the  self-esteem  common  to  us  all.  Teach  your  children 
to  perform  their  duties  from  a  higher  motive  than  the 
hope  of  praise." 

A  chill  like  that  of  mid-winter  came  over  the  heart 
of  the  wife  as  she  listened  to  the  grave  rebuke. 

There  was  truth  in  the  words.     Our  duties  should  he 


THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE.  63 

performed  from  higher  motives  than  the  approbation  of 
our  fellow  men ;  but  that  little  word  of  praise  from  those 
we  love — surely,  surely  it  cannot  he  hurtful.  It  is  one 
of  life's  brightest  sunbeams,  encouraging  the  weak, 
soothing  the  long-suffering,  bringing  rest  to  the  weary 
and  hope  to  the  desponding. 

Something  of  this  Mary  longed  to  urge,  but  her  hus 
band  had  already  turned  away,  and  the  words  died  on 
her  lips. 

Time  passed  on.  Another  and  another  child  had  been 
added  to  the  number,  until  four  bright  little  faces  were 
seen  around  the  family  table.  The  father  seemed  un 
changed.  Increasing  years  had  altered  neither  the  outer 
nor  the  inner  man,  but  In  the  wife  and  mother  few  would 
have  recognised  the  warm-hearted,  impulsive  girl,  who 
ten  years  before  had  left  her  father's  home,  with  bright 
visions  of  the  future  floating  before  her  youthful  mind. 

Whence  came  that  perfect  calmness  of  demeanour,  that 
almost  stoical  indifference  to  all  that  was  passing  around 
her  ?  To  husband,  children,  and  servants  she  was  the 
same.  Their  comfort  was  cared  for,  the  routine  of  daily 
duties  strictly  performed,  but  always  with  that  cold, 
lifeless  manner,  strangely  at  variance  with  her  natural 
disposition. 

But  the  change  had  come  gradually,  and  the  husband 
noticed  it  not.  To  him,  Mary  had  only  grown  more 
matronly,  and,  wisely  laying  aside  the  frivolity  of  girl 
hood,  had  acquired  the  sedateness  of  riper  years.  True, 
there  were  moments  when  his  indifference  was  somewhat 
annoying.  Although  he  never  praised,  he  often  blamed, 
and  his  lightest  word  of  rebuke  was  at  first  always  met 


64  THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE. 

with  a  gush  of  tears,  but  now  there  was  no  sign  of  emo 
tion ;  the  placid  countenance  remained  unchanged,  and 
quietly  he  was  told  that  his  wishes  should  he  attended 
to.  Certainly  this  was  all  that  he  could  desire,  but  he 
would  have  liked  to  feel  that  his  pleasure  or  displeasure 
was  a  matter  of  more  consequence  than  it  now  appealed 
to  be. 

And  yet  the  warm  affections  of  the  heart  were  not  all 
dead.  They  slumbered — were  chilled,  paralyzed,  starv 
ing  for  want  of  their  proper  and  natural  nourishment, 
but  there  was  still  life,  and  there  were  times  when  the 
spirit  again  thrilled  with  rapture,  as  the  loving  arms  of 
childhood  were  twined  around  the  mother's  neck,  or  the 
curly  head  rested  upon  her  bosom. 

But  to  the  little  ones,  as  to  others,  there  was  the  same 
cold  uniformity  of  manner,  a  want  of  that  endearing 
tenderness  which  forms  so  close  a  tie  between  mother 
and  child.  Their  health,  and  the  cultivation  of  their 
minds,  were  never  neglected,  but  the  education  of  the 
heart  remained  uncared  for,  and  the  spot  which  should 
have  bloomed  with  good  and  true  affection,  was  but  a 
wilderness  of  weeds. 

The  two  eldest  children  were  promising  boys  of  seven 
and  nine  years  old.  Full  of  health,  and  buoyant,  al 
though  constantly  repressed  spirits,  they  thought  not 
and  cared  not  for  aught  save  the  supply  of  their  bodily 
wants ;  but  with  the  third  child,  the  gentle  Eva,  it  was 
far  otherwise.  From  infancy  her  little  frame  had  been 
so  frail  and  delicate,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  was 
constantly  struggling  to  leave  its  earthly  tenement ;  but 
her  fifth  year  was  rapidly  approaching,  and  still  she 


THE    WORD   OF   PRAISE.  65 

lingered  a  blessed  minister  of  love  in  that  cheerless 
home. 

How  wistfully  she  gazed  upon  the  mother's  face  as 
aho  unweariedly  performed  the  many  little  offices  neces 
sary  for  her  comfort,  but  ever  with  the  same  frigid,  un 
changing  manner !  How  earnestly  she  longed  for  that 
manifestation  of  tenderness  which  she  had  never  felt! 
Even  the  stern  father  spoke  to  her  in  gentler  and  more 
subdued  tones  than  was  his  wont,  and  would  sometimes 
stroke  the  silky  hair  from  her  white  forehead,  and  call 
her  his  "poor  child." 

But  it  was  the  fondness  of  a  mother's  love  for  which 
the  little  one  yearned,  and  with  unerring  instinct  she 
felt  that  beneath  that  calm  and  cold  exterior,  the  waters 
of  the  fountain  were  still  gushing.  Once,  when  after  a 
day  of  rootless  pain  she  had  sunk  into  an  uneasy  slum 
ber,  she  '.vis  aroused  by  the  fervent  pressure  of  that 
mother's  kiss,  and  through  her  half-opening  eyelids  she 
perceived  the  tears  which  were  flowing  over  her  pale 
face.  In  an  instant  the  arms  of  the  affectionate  child 
were  clasped  about  her  neck,  and  the  soft  voice  whis 
pered, — 

"  Dearest  mother,  do  you  not  love  your  little  Eva  ?" 

But  all  erection  was  instantly  repressed,  and  quietly 
as  ever  caw)'j  the  answer — 

"  Certainly,  my  child,  I  love  you  all.  But  lie  down 
now,  and  tuke  some  rest.  You  have  been  dreaming." 

"  "iVas  snch  a  happy  dream,"  murmured  the  patient 
little  sufferer,  as  obedient  to  her  mother's  words  she 
again  closed  her  eyes,  and  lay  motionless  upon  her  pil? 
low.  Once  more  she  slept,  and  a  sweet  smile  beamed 


66  THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE. 

upon  her  countenance,  and  her  lips  moved  as  if  about  ti 
speak.  The  watchful  mother  bent  over  her. 

"K.ss  me  again,  dear  mother,"  lisped  the  slumbcrer. 
"  Call  me  youi  dear  little  Eva." 

None  could  tell  the  workings  of  that  stricken  heart,  a3 
hour  after  hour  the  mother  watched  by  her  sleeping 
child;  but  the  dawn  of  morning  found  her  .still  the 
same;  statue-like  as  marble,  that  once  speaking  face 
reflected  not  the  fires  within. 

Day  after  day  passed  on.  and  'it  was  evident  that  the 
spirit  of  the  innocent  child  would  soon  rejoice  in  its 
heavenly  home. 

She  could  no  longer  raise  her  wasted  little  form  from 
the  bed  of  pain,  but  still  her  deep  blue  eyes  gazed  lov 
ingly  upon  those  around  her,  and  her  soft  voice  spoke 
Df  patience  and  submission. 

The  last  hour  drew  near,  and  the  little  sufferer  lay 
in  her  mother's  arms.  The  destroyer  claimed  but  the 
frail  earthly  covering,  and  even  now  the  immortal  soul 
shone  forth  in  its  heavenly  brightness. 

"Am  I  not  going -to  my  Father  in  Heaven?"  she 
whispered,  as  she  gazed  earnestly  upon  her  mother's 
face. 

"Yes,  dearest,  yes,"  was  the  almost  inaudible  reply. 

"  And  will  the  good  angels  watch  over  me,  and  be  to 
me  as  a  mother?"  again  asked  the  child. 

"  Far,  far  better  than  any  earthly  parent,  my  dear 
one." 

A  radiant  smile  illumined  the  countenance  of  the  dying 
child.  The  fond  words  of  her  mother  were  sweet  music 
to  her  ear. 


THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE.  67 

The  father  approached,  and  bent  over  her. 

"My  little  Eva,  '  he  whispered,  "will  you  not  speafc 
to  me?" 

"  I  love  you,  dear  father,"  was  the  earnest  answer, 
44  and  when  I  am  in  Heaven  I  will  pray  for  you,  and  fcr 
my  poor  mother ;"  and  again  those  speaking  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  the  mother's  face,  as  if  she  would  read  her 
inmost  griefs. 

The  physician  entered,  and,  in  the  vain  hope  of  pro 
longing  life,  judged  it  necessary  to  make  some  external 
applications  to  relieve  the  difficulty  of  breathing,  which 
was  fast  increasing.  The  pain  was  borne  without  a 
murmur. 

"Do  I  not  try  to  be  patient,  mother?"  whispered 
that  little  voice. 

"Yes,  darling,  you  are  a  dear,  patient,  good  little 
girl." 

An  expression  of  happiness,  amounting  almost  to  rap 
ture,  beamed  in  Eva's  face,  at  these  words  of  unqualified 
praise. 

"  Oh,  mother !  dear,  dear  mother,"  she  exclaimed, 
"will  you  not  always  call  your  little  Eva  your  dear, 
good  little  girl  ?  Oh,  I  will  try  to  be  so  very  good  if 
you  will.  My  heart  is  so  glad  now,"  and  with  the 
strength  produced  by  the  sudden  excitement,  she  clasped 
her  feeble  arms  about  her  mother's  n.eck. 

"  Her  mind  begins  to  wander,"  whispered  the  physi 
cian  to  the  father ;  but  there  was  no  reply.  A  sudden 
light  had  broken  upon  that  stern  man,  and  motionless 
he  stood,  and  listened  to  the  words  of  his  dying  child. 

But  she  had  already  sunk  back  in  an  apparent  slum- 


68  THE   WORD   OF   PRAISE. 

ber,  and  hour  after  hour  those  calm  but  agonized  parents 
sat  watching  by  her  side,  at  times  almost  believing  that 
the  spirit  had  indeed  gone,  so  deep  was  the  repose  of 
that  last  earthly  slumber. 

At  length  she  aroused,  and  with  the  same  beautiful 
Bmile  which  had  played  upon  her  features  when  she  sunk 
to  rest,  again  exclaimed, 

"I  am  so  very  happy,  dear  mother;  will  you  call  me 
your  good  little  Eva  once  more?" 

In  a  voice  almost  suffocated  with  emotion,  the  desired 
words  were  again  breathed  forth,  and  long  and  fervent 
kisses  imprinted  upon  the  child's  pale  cheek. 

"  My  heart  is  so  glad  !"  she  murmured.  "  Oh,  mother, 
kiss  my  brothers  when  I  am  gone,  and  smile  upon  them 
and  call  them  good.  It  is  like  the  sunlight  on  a  cloudy 
day. 

"Put  your  face  close  to  mine,  dear  father,  and  let  me 
whisper  in  your  ear.  Call  poor  mother  good,  sometimes, 
and  kiss  her  as  you  do  me,  now  that  I  am  dying,  and 
sho  will  never  look  so  sad  any  more." 

"I  will,  my  precious  child!  I  will!"  And  the  head 
of  the  strong  man  bowed  upon  his  breast,  and  he  wept. 

A  change  passed  over  the  countenance  of  the  little 
one. 

"  The  angels  will  take  me  now,"  she  whispered.  The 
eyelids  closed,  there  was  no  struggle,  but  the  parents 
saw  that  her  mission  on  earth  was  ended.  Henceforth 
fehe  would  rejoice  in  the  world  where  all  is  light  and 
love. 

The  mother  wept  not  as  she  gazed  upon  that  lifeless 
clny.  She  wept  not  as  she  laid  the  little  form  upon  th* 


THE   VPORD  OF   PRAISE.  69 

bed,  and  straightened  the  limbs  already  stiffening  in  the 
embrace  of  death ;  but  when  her  husband  clasped  her 
to  his  bosom,  and  uttered  words  of  endearing  affection, 
a  wild  scream  burst  from  her  lips,  and  she  sunk  back  in 
his  arms,  apparently  as  unconscious  as  the  child  who  lay 
before  them. 

A  long  and  alarming  state  of  insensibility  was  suc 
ceeded  by  weeks  of  fever  and  delirium. 

How  many  bitter  but  useful  lessons  did  the  husband 
learn  as  he  watched  by  her  bed-side !  Often  in  the  still 
hours  of  the  night,  when  all  save  himself  slumbered,  she 
would  gaze  upon  him  with  that  earnest,  loving,  but  re 
proachful  look,  which  he  well  remembered  to  have  seen 
in  years  gone  by,  and  murmur, 

"  Just  one  kind  glance,  Henry,  one  little  kiss,  one 
word  of  love  and  praise." 

And  then  as  he  bent  fondly  over  her,  that  cold,  fixed 
expression,  which  she  had  so  long  worn,  would  again 
Bteal  over  her  countenance,  and  mournfully  she  added, 

"  Too  late,  too  late.  The  heart  is  seared  and  dead. 
See,  little  Eva  stands  and  beckons  me  to  the  land  of 
love.  Yes,  dear  one,  I  come." 

But  the  crisis  came,  and  though  feeble  as  an  infant, 
the  physicians  declared  the  danger  past.  Careful  nurs 
ing,  and  freedom  from  excitement,  would  restore  the  wife 
and  mother  to  her  family. 

With  unequalled  tenderness  did  her  husband  watch 
ever  her,  but  with  returning  health  returned  also  that 
unnatural  frigidity  of  manner.  There  was  no  response 
to  his  words  or  looks  of  Jjve. 

Was  it,  indeed,  too  late  1    Had  his  knowledge  of  the 


70  THE   \^ORD   OF  PRAISE. 

wants  of  a  woman's  heart  come  only  when  the  heart, 
which  once  beat  for  him  alone,  had  become  as  stone  ? 

It  was  the  anniversary  of  their  marriage.  Eleven 
years  before  they  had  stood  at  the  altar  and  taken  those 
holy  vows.  Well  'did  Henry  Howard  recollect  that 
bridal  morning.  And  how  had  he  fulfilled  the  trust 
reposed  in  him  ?  With  bitter  remorse  he  gazed  upon 
the  wreck  before  him,  and  thought  of  that  gentle  being 
once  so  full  of  love  and  joy. 

An  earnest  prayer  broke  from  his  lips,  and  his  arms 
•were  clasped  around  her. 

"Mary,  dear  Mary,"  he  whispered,  "may  not  the 
past  be  forgotten  ?  Grievously  have  I  erred,  but  believe 
me,  it  has  been  partly  through  ignorance.  An  orphan 
from  my  earliest  childhood,  I  knew  not  the  blessing  of 
a  mother's  love.  Cold  and  stern  in  my  nature,  I  com 
prehended  not  the  wants  of  your  gentle  spirit.  I  see  it 
all  noAV :  your  constant  self-denial,  your  untiring  efforts 
to  please,  until,  wearied  and  discouraged,  your  very 
heart's-blood  seemed  chilled  within  you,  and  you  became 
the  living  image  of  that  cold  heartlessness  which  had 
caused  the  fearful  change. 

"  But  may  we  not  forget  the  past  ?  Will  you  not  be 
once  more  my  loving,  joyous  bride,  a:.d  the  remainder 
of  my  life  shall  be  devoted  to  your  happiness?" 

Almost  fearful  was  the  agitation  which  shook  that 
feeble  frame,  and  it  was  long  before  there  was  a  reply. 

At  length,  in  the  words  of  little  Eva,  she  whispered, 

"  Oh,  my  husband  !  my  own  dear  husband !  My 
heart  is  so  glad !  I  had  thought  it  cold  and  dead,  but 
now  it  again  beats  responsive  to  your  words  of  love. 


LETTERS   TO   A   YOUNG   WIFE.  71 

The  prayers  of  my  angel-child  have  been  answered,  and 
happiness  will  yet  be  ours.  My  dear,  dear  Eva,  how 
often  have  I  wept  as  I  thought  of  my  coldness  toward 
her,  and  yet  all  power  to  show  my  earnest  love  seemed 
gone  for  ever." 

"  It  slumbered,  dearest,  but  it  is  not  gone.  The  breath 
of  affection  will  again  revive  your  warm-hearted,  gene 
rous  nature,  and  our  remaining  little  ones  will  rejoice  in, 
the  sunshine  of  a  mother's  love.  Our  Eva,  from  her 
heavenly  home,  will  gaze  with  joy  upon  those  she  held 
so  dear." 

Another  year,  and  feAV  would  have  recognised  that 
once  dreary  home. 

Life's  sunbeams  shone  brightly  now.  Those  little 
messengers  to  the  human  heart, — the  look  of  love,  the 
gentle  touch,  the  word  of  praise, — all,  all  were  there. 
Trifles  in  themselves,  but  ah,  how  essential  to  the  spirit's 
life! 


LETTERS  TO  A  YOUNG  WIFE 

FROM  A  MARRIED  LADY. 


LETTER  L 

MY  I)^JP.  LIZZIE, 

I  have  just  received  the  pleasing  intelligence  of  your 
marriage  v/ith  one  so  worthy  of  your  trust  and  affection. 
Of  course,  jou  are  very  happy;  for  there  is  no  more 
perfect  hstp^Wss  for  a  young  and  loving  woman  than  to 


<li  LETTERS   TO   A    YOUNG    WIFE. 

centre  her  heart's  best  feelings  upon  one  being — to  feel 
her  destiny  bound  up  in  his — to  become,  as  it  were,  a 
very  part  of  his  life.  Perhaps,  at  such  a  time,  my  dear 
girl,  it  may  seem  unkind  to  throw  the  least  shadow 
over  the  bright  sky  of  your  happiness ;  but  I  cannot 
refrain  from  giving  you  some  little  advice  now,  at  the 
outset  of  your  new  life. 

You  are  looking  forward — are  you  not  ? — with  perfect 
confidence  to  the  future.  You  think  that  the  sea  upon 
which  you  are  launched,  will  ever  remain  calm  and 
untroubled  as  now ;  that  you  will  go  on  for  ever  thus, 
joyous  and  happy — thus,  free  from  care  and  sorrow ; 
but,  Oh,  remember,  there  is  no  sunshine  that  is  not 
clouded  over  sometimes ;  no  stream  so  smooth  as  to  be 
always  undisturbed.  Then,  make  up  your  mind  to 
have  cares,  perplexities,  and  trials,  such  as  have  never 
troubled  you  before ;  and  be  prepared  to  meet  them. 

As  yet,  you  are  to  your  husband  the  same  perfect 
being  that  you  were  before  marriage,  free  from  all  that 
is  Avrong — your  follies  even  regarded  as  delightful.  You 
are  now  placed  upon  a  pedestal — a  very  goddess ;  but, 
believe  me,  you  must  soon  descend  to  take  your  place 
among  mortals,  and  well  for  you  if  you  can  do  it  grace 
fully.  Believe  me,  dearest,  I  have  no  wish  to  sadden 
your  spirit — only  to  prepare  it  for  the  trials  which  must 
come  to  perplex  it. 

You  must  learn  to  have  your  faults  commented  upon, 
one  by  one,  and  yet  be  meek  and  patient  under  reproach. 
You  must  learn  to  have  those  sayings  which  you  have 
heard  praised  as  witticisms,  regarded  as  mere  nonsense. 
You  must  learn  to  yield  even  when  you  seem  to  be  in 


LETTERS   TO   A   YOUNG   WIFE.  73 

the  right ;  to  give  up  your  will  even  when  your  husband 
seems  obstinate  and  unreasonable ;  to  be  chided  when 
you  expected  praise,  and  have  your  utmost  endeavours 
to  do  rightly  regarded  as  mere  duties.  But,  be  not  cast 
Aowri  by  this  dark  side  of  the  picture.  You  will  be 
happier,  spite  of  all  these  trials,  than  you  have  ever  been, 
if  you  only  resolve  to  be  firm  in  the  path  of  duty ;  to 
sti  ive  to  do  well  always ;  to  return  a  kind  answer  for  a 
harsh  word,  and,  above  all,  to  control  your  temper. 
There  may  be  times  when  this  may  seem  impossible  ;  but 
always  remember  that  one  angry  word  provokes  another, 
and  that  thus  the  beautiful  gem  of  wedded  affection  is 
tarnished,  until  what  seemed  to  be  the  purest  gold  is 
found  only  gilded  brass.  Amiability  is  the  most  neces 
sary  of  all  virtues  in  a  wife,  and  perhaps  the  most  diffi 
cult  of  all  others  to  retain. 

Pray  fervently  for  a  meek  forbearing  spirit;  cherish 
your  kindly  impulses,  and  leave  the  rest  to  your  Father 
in  Heaven. 

I  shall,  if  you  like,  write  you  again  upon  this  subject. 
You  know  I  have  been  wedded  long  enough  to  have  had 
some  little  experience,  and  if  it  can  benefit  you,  you  are 
welcome  to  it. 

Adieu  for  a  while.     Ever  your  friend. 


LETTER  IL 
MY  DEAR  LIZZIE, 

I  hardly  know  whether  pleasure  or  pain  was  the 
uppermost  feeling  of  my  mind,  while  reading  your  reply 
to  my  last  letter.  You  have  some  secret  disappointment 


74  LETTERS   TO   A   YOUNG   WIFE. 

preying  upon  your  young  and  thus  far  happy  heart ; 
and  although  you  speak  favourably  of  your  new  duties 
as  a  wife,  still  there  is  not  that  coulcur  de  rose  about  your 
descriptions  of  the  present  which  used  to  tinge  those  of 
the  future. 

You  have  felt  already,  have  you  not,  that  the  world 
has  interests  for  your  husband  other  than  those  con 
nected  with  yourself — that  he  can  be  very  happy  even 
when  you  are  not  present  to  share  his  happiness?  You 
are  not  the  first,  dear  Lizzie,  who  has  been  thus 
awakened  from  an  exquisite  dream  of  love;  yet  do  not 
repine  nor  fret,  for  that  will  only  increase  your  sorrow, 
but  reason  with  yourself.  Think  how  many  claims  there 
are  upon  your  husband's  time  and  society — claims  to 
which  he  must  bow  if  he  wish  to  retain  the  position  he 
now  holds.  Before  your  marriage,  you  were  the  all 
engrossing  object  of  his  thoughts — all  that  he  depended 
upon  for  happiness.  There  was  all  the  excitement  of 
winning  you  for  his  wife,  which  caused  him  for  a  time  to 
forego  every  other  pleasure  which  might  interfere  with 
this  one  great  object.  But  now  that  is  all  over.  Like 
all  others,  he  must  proceed  onward,  and  ever  look  for 
ward  to  something  yet  to  be  attained. 

You  say  that  he  has  left  you  alone  one  whole  evening, 
and  that  you  punished  him  for  it  by  appearing  very 
much  offended  when  he  returned.  Now,  dear  Lizzie, 
was  that  the  way  to  cure  him  of  not  appreciating  your 
society  ?  By  making  yourself  thus  disagreeable  upon 
his  return,  would  he  not  rather  delay  that  return  another 
time  ? 

Think  over  what  I  have  written,  and  when  he  is  obliged 


LETTERS   TO   A   YOUNG   WIFE.  75 

to  leave  you  again,  wear  no  sullen  frowns,  nor  gloomy 
looks,  but  part  from  him  with  smiles  and  pleasant  words  ; 
amuse  yourself  during  his  absence  with  your  books,  your 
music,  your  work  ;  make  everything  around  you  wear  a 
cheerful  look  to  welcome  him  home;  and  believe  me, 
he  will  appreciate  the  kindness  which  is  thus  free  from 
selfishness. 

A  man's  home  must  ever  be  a  sunny  place  to  him,  and 
it  should  be  a  wife's  most  pleasant  duty  to  drive  for  ever 
from  his  hearth-side  those  hideous  sister  spirits,  discon 
tent  and  gloomy  peevishness. 

This  way  that  young  wives  have  of  punishing  their 
husbands,  always  comes  back  upon  themselves  with 
double  force.  Any  man,  however  unreasonable  he 
appears,  may  be  influenced  by  kindly  words  and  happy 
smiles,  and  there  is  not  one,  however  affectionate  and 
domestic,  that  will  not  be  driven  away  by  sullen  frowns 
and  discontented  looks. 

Do  not  allow,  my  dear  girl,  these  feelings  of  gloom 
and  sadness  to  grow  upon  you.  Believe  me,  you  can 
overcome  them  if  you  will,  and  now  is  the  time  for  you 
to  exert  all  your  power  of  self-control. 

]  know  there  is  much  to  make  a  young  married  woman 
Bad.  Ere  many  days  of  wedded  life  are  past  she  begins 
to  feel  the  difference  between  the  lover  and  the  husband. 
She  misses  that  entire  devotion  to  her  every  whim  and 
caprice  which  is  so  delightful ;  that  all  absorbed  atten 
tion  to  her  every  trifling  word ;  that  impress ivencss  of 
manner  which  is  flattering  and  pleasing;  and  she  al 
most  fancies  that  she  is  a  most  miserable,  neglected 
personage. 


76  LETTERS  TO  A  YOUNG  WIFE. 

This  is  a  trying  moment  for  a  young  and  sensitive 
woman,  but  if  she  only  reason  with  herself,  and  resolve 
to  yield  no  place  in  her  spirits  to  feelings  of  repining, 
she  will  be  happier — far  happier  with  her  husband  as  he 
is,  than  were  he  to  retain  all  the  devotion  of  the  lover. 

I  know  this  seems  difficult  to  believe :  but  reflect  a 
moment.  Suppose  your  husband  should  remain  just  the 
same  as  he  was  before  marriage,  should  give  up  all  other 
society  for  you,  should  be  constantly  repeating  his  pro 
testations  of  love,  constantly  hanging  around  you, 
watching  your  every  step,  living  upon  your  very  breath 
as  it  were ;  do  you  not  agree  with  me  in  thinking  that 
all  this  would  after  awhile  become  very  tiresome? 
Would  you  not  get  weary  of  such  a  perpetual  display 
of  affection,  and  would  you  feel  any  pride  in  a  husband 
who  made  no  advancement  in  the  world,  even  though  it 
were  given  up  for  you  ?  No,  no  !  Think  this  all  over, 
and  you  will  see  that  it  is  just  as  well  for  you  to  relin 
quish  his  society  sometimes ;  that  is,  if  you  welcome  his 
return  with  a  happy  face. 

Try  my  experiment,  dear,  when  next  he  leaves  you, 
and  write  me  the  result.  Adieu  for  awhile. 

LETTER  III. 
MY  DEAR  LIZZIE, 

A  severe  illness  has  prevented  my  answering  youi 
kind  letter  for  some  weeks,  but  now  I  am  quite  well 
again,  and  hope  to  continue  without  further  interruption 
our  pleasant  correspondence. 

Your  last  letter  I  have  read  and  re-read,  not  without, 
I  must  confess,  some  little  secret  misgiving  as  to  whe- 


LETTERS   TO   A   YOUNG    WIFE.  77 

iher  you  have  not  taken  one  step  to  mar  the  happiness 
of  your  married  life,  now  so  perfect  in  its  beauty. 

You  speak,  in  your  own  whole-souled  affect  ion  at  o 
manner,  of  a,  friend  with  whom  you  have  met,  and  whose 
kindness  has  so  won  your  affection  and  gratitude,  that  you 
have  opened  your  whole  heart  to  her.  Now,  my  dear 
Lizzie,  that  same  little  heart  of  yours  is  quite  too  pre 
vious  a  volume  to  he  thus  shown  to  every  new  comer  who 
wins  upon  you  hy  a  few  kindly  words.  You  have  given 
t  to  your  hushand ;  let  it  be  kept,  then,  only  for  his 
gaze ;  open  every  page  of  it  for  his  inspection,  and  let 
him  correct  whatever  errors  he  may  find  traced  there 
upon.  Believe  me,  dear,  you  will  find  no  truer  or  more 
disinterested  confidant  than  him  to  whom  you  have 
pledged  your  marriage  vows. 

Do  not  think  I  wish  to  discourage  all  friendships  with 
your  own  sex.  Oh,  no ;  they  possess  too  great  a  charm 
to  be  thus  rudely  thrown  aside.  To  me,  there  is  hardly 
a  more  lovely  sight  in  the  world  than  the  union  of  two 
congenial  spirits  in  the  tie  of  sincere  and  unselfish  affec 
tion.  But  I  do  not  dignify  with  the  name  of  friendship 
those  caprices  of  the  moment,  which  so  often  assume  its 
title  and  usurp  its  place.  A  young  girl  meets  another 
at  an  assembly — she  is  pleased  with  her  manners  ;  thinks 
her  amiable,  because  she  smiles  frequently ;  intellectual, 
because  she  converses  easily ;  winning  and  fascinating, 
because  she  receives  some  kind  attentions  from  her. 
Forthwith  they  become  devoted  friends.  In  a  few  weeks 
tlioy  discover  that  they  are  not  so  congenial  as  they 
imagined,  and  i\\e  friendship  is  broken  off.  Away  with 
such  desecration !  One  might  as  well  compare  the 


78  LETTERS   TO  A   YOT.  NO 

scenes  of  forest,  grove,  and  field  in  a  theatre,  to  those 
painted  by  nature's  own  hand,  as  this  momentary  impulse 
to  that  noble,  unwavering  affection  which  gives  such 
beauty  and  dignity  to  the  female  character.  There  ar« 
many  imitations  of  the  precious  gem,  but  although  they 
are  equally  bright  and  beautiful  at  first,  they  soon  tar 
nish  and  show  themselves  in  their  true  and  ungilded 
state. 

There  is  another  part  of  your  letter,  dear  Lizzie, 
•which  gives  me  much  uneasiness.  Alter  your  piquant 
description  of  the  soiree  you  attended,  you  say  that  you 
were  quite  a  belle  there,  and  that  you  met  again  Frank 

H ,  your  former  admirer,  who  was  very  devoted  to 

you.  Lizzie,  dear  Lizzie,  do  not  think  thus,  do  not  act 
thus,  do  not  write  thus  a  second  time.  Remember  you 
are  a  wife.  A  sacred,  solemn  duty  is  yours,  which  will 
require  all  your  powers  to  perform  with  unwavering 
fidelity.  Let  me  be  frank  with  you,  darling,  and  tell 
you  that  love  of  admiration  has  ever  been  your  greatest 
fault,  and  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  that  a  young 
wife  can  have.  Check  it,  control  it  now,  before  it  has 
led  you  farther  into  a  snare  which  may  involve  your 
everlasting  happiness.  If  you  find  it  impossible  to  drive 
it  away  from  you  entirely,  endeavour  to  centre  it  upon 
your  husband.  Think  of  your  personal  appearance  only 
so  far  as  it  will  please  him ;  your  dress,  so  far  as  it  will 
gratify  his  taste ;  your  intellect,  as  it  will  make  his 
home  agreeable ;  your  musical  powers,  as  they  will 
enable  you  to  give  him  pleasure ;  learn  to  view  all  your 
charms  and  powers  of  pleasing  in  this  light  j  improve 


LETTERS    TO   A   YOUNG   WIFE.  79 

them  with  this  view,  and  all  will  go  well  with  you  and 
your  married  life. 

I  was  quite  charmed  with  your  description  of  your 
gweet  little  home,  dear  Lizzie !  What  a  lovely  place  it 
must  be,  and  what  a  heautiful  prospect  of  happiness 
there  is  before  you  ! 

You  must  be  very  watchful,  dear,  of  your  husband's 
tastes  and  peculiarities.  Always  continue  to  have  his 
favourite  seat  ready  when  he  comes  home  wearied  with 
the  day's  business ;  his  favourite  slippers  ready  for 
immediate  use ;  his  favourite  dishes  set  before  him. 
There  is  much  influence  to  be  gained  over  a  man  by  thus 
proving  to  him  that  he  has  been  thought  of  while  absent, 
and  his  particular  fancies  remembered.  Always  have  a 
cheerful  home,  a  bright  fire,  a  happy  welcoming  smile, 
and,  believe  me,  you  will  have  a  domestic  husband. 

I  was  very  happy  to  learn  that  you  tried  the  experi 
ment  I  recommended,  and  met  with  so  pleasant  a  result. 
Cultivate  the  cheerfulness  you  seem  to  have  regained ; 
do  not  allow  a  shadow  to  rest  upon  your  spirit,  and  you 
will  be  doubly  rewarded  in  the  devoted  affection  of  your 
husband,  and  the  approval  of  your  own  conscience. 
Adieu  for  awhile. 


LETTER  IV. 

MY  DEAR  LIZZIE, 

I  have  thought  many,  many  times  of  your  last  beau- 
tifu1,  wife-like  letter.  It  was  so  full  of  tenderness — so 
full  of  a  spirit  of  humility — so  free  from  all  selfishness, 
that  it  called  from  my  heart  a  gush  of  the  warmest 


80  LETTERS  TO  A  YOUNG  WIFE. 

emotion.    I  have  read  it  again  and  again,  and  each  tinio 
with  an  increased  feeling  of  interest  and  pleasure. 

You  are  in  the  right  path,  now,  darling — God  grant 
that  you  may  never  be  induced  to  deviate  from  it !  Go 
on  as  you  have  commenced,  and,  believe  me,  more  hap 
piness  will  be  yours  than  you  have  ever  dreamed  of. 
There  is  no  richer  treasure  in  this  world — no  greater 
blessing — no  more  unalloyed  happiness  to  a  woman  than 
the  perfect  trust  and  love  of  a  good  husband.  The  tie 
that  binds  the  wedded  is  one  that  must  be  guarded  well, 
or  it  may  become  partially  unloosed,  and  it  is  almost 
impossible  ever  to  fasten  it  as  at  first. 

Cherish  that  all-absorbing  love  for  your  husband, 
which  now  so  fills  your  breast ;  regard  nothing  as  be 
neath  your  watchful  attention  which  adds  to  his  happi 
ness  ;  consult  his  wishes,  his  tastes,  in  all  your  actions, 
your  habits,  your  dress.  Above  all,  never  deceive  him. 
Be  able  ever  to  meet  him  with  an  unflinching  eye,  a  true 
and  honest  heart. 

Ever  be  guided  by  the  lovely  light  of  principle ;  let 
this  direct  you  in  all  your  paths ;  keep  your  eye  fixed 
upon  it ;  lose  not  sight  of  it  a  moment,  for  it  beams  from 
a  beautiful  home  of  peaceful  happiness,  whither  it  would 
lead  you,  and  where  all  arrive  who  follow  its  guidance1. 

Cultivate  in  your  heart  a  love  of  home  and  home  du 
ties.  Strive  to  make  that  place  as  attractive  as  possible, 
and  do  everything  in  your  power  to  render  it  an  agree 
able  resting-place  for  your  husband.  The  daily  routine 
of  home  duties,  when  performed  in  the  right  spirit, 
diffuse  a  feeling  of  cheerfuln-ess  oyer  one's  heart  that 


LETTERS    TO    A    YOUNG    WIFE.  81 

.an  never  be  found  in  the  applause  of  the  world,  or  the 
gratification  of  any  favourite  desire. 

Endeavour  to  make  your  husband's  evenings  at  home 
as  pleasant  as  you  are  able ;  call  forth  your  powers  of 
pleasing;  bring  up  his  favourite  topics  of  conversation ; 
amuse  him  with  music ;  do  all  that  you  can  to  convince 
him  that  he  has  a  most  delightful  wife,  and  trust  me, 
dear  girl,  you  will  never  fail  to  make  his  own  "ingle 
Bide"  the  happiest  spot  in  the  world  to  him. 

I  once  knew  a  wife  who  complained  to  me,  with  many 
tears,  that  her  husband  left  her,  evening  after  evening, 
to  pass  his  time  in  the  reading-room  of  a  hotel.  Rally 
ing  the  husband  upon  his  desertion  of  so  pleasant  a  wife, 
he  replied  to  me,  that  he  had  commenced  his  married 
life  with  the  determination  to  be  a  kind,  domestic  hus 
band,  but  that  he  had  actually  been  driven  from  his  home ; 
and  for  what,  do  you  imagine,  my  dear  Lizzie  ?  Why, 
because  he  had  not  the  simple  privilege  of  enjoying  a 
cigar !  Yes,  his  wife  actually  would  not  allow  him  to 
smoke  in  the  parlour  where  their  evenings  were  passed, 
because,  forsooth,  she  was  afraid  of  spoiling  her  new 
curtains !  They,  it  seems,  were  of  more  importance  to 
her  than  the  comfort  of  her  husband.  He  had  been 
confirmed  in  the  habit  of  smoking  for  years,  and  could 
not  pass  an  evening  without  it.  He  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  sit  alone  in  a  cold,  cheerless  room,  so  he  went  to  a 
neighbouring  hotel,  which  he  found  so  lively  and  plea 
sant  that  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  for  the  future,  to 
enjoy  his  cigars  there. 

You  may  smile,  and  look  upon  this  as  a  trifle,  and  so 
it  was ;  yet  was  it  of  sufficient  importance  to  drive  a 
6 


82  THE  WIFE. 

man  from  his  own  fireside,  and  render  a  woman  lonely 
and  unhappy 

Life  is  ma.\e  up  of  trifles,  and  it  is  by  paying  atten 
tion  to  opportunities  of  winning  love  by  little  tilings  that 
a  wife  makes  her  husband  and  herself  happy.  Are  such 
means,  then,  to  be  neglected  when  they  lead  to  such 
results  ? 

I  must  bid  you  adieu  now  for  a  while,  dear  Lizzie.  I 
think  of  you  very,  very  often,  and  pray  most  fervently 
that  you  may  be  enabled  so  to  perform  your  duties  as  a 
•wife  as  to  be  a  blessing  to  your  husband,  and  an  exam 
ple  to  all  womankind. 

Ever  your  friend. 


THE  WIFE. 

BEHOLD,  how  fair  of  eye,  and  mild  of  mien 
Walks  forth  of  marriage  yonder  gentle  queen ; 
What  chaste  sobriety  whene'er  she  speaks, 
What  glad  content  sits  smiling  on  her  cheeks, 
What  plans  of  goodness  in  that  bosom  glow, 
What  prudent  care  is  throned  upon  her  brow, 
What  tender  truth  in  all  she  does  or  says, 
What  pleasantness  and  peace  in  all  her  ways! 
For  ever  blooming  on  that  cheerful  face, 
Home's  best  affections  grow  divine  in  grace ; 
Her  eyes  are  rayed  with  love,  serene  and  bright; 
Charity  wreathes  her  lips  with  smiles  of  light ; 
Her  kindly  voice  hath  music  in  its  notes ; 
And  Heaven's  own  atmosphere  around  her  floats  I 


BE  GENTLE  WITH  THY  WIFE. 

BE  gentle  !  for  you  little  know 

How  many  trials  rise  ; 
Although  to  thee  they  may  be  small, 

To  her,  of  giant  size. 

Be  gentle !  though  perchance  that  lip 
May  speak  a  murmuring  tone, 

The  heart  may  beat  with  kindness  yet, 
And  joy  to  be  thine  own. 

Be  gentle !  weary  hours  of  pain 

'Tis  woman's  lot  to  bear ; 
Then  yield  her  what  support  thou  canil. 

And  all  her  sorrows  share. 

Be  gentle  !  for  the  noblest  hearts 
At  times  may  have  some  grief, 

And  even  in  a  pettish  word 
May  seek  to  find  relief. 

Be  gentle!  none  are  perfect  hero— 

Thou'rt  dearer  far  than  life, 
Then  husband,  bear  and  still 

Bo  gentle  to  thy  wife. 


A  TRUE  TALE  OF  LIFE. 

IN  one  of  the  New  England  States,  the  little  church- 
bell  in  Chester  village  rung  merrily  in  the  clear  morning 
air  of  a  bright  summer's  day.  It  was  to  call  the  people 
together,  and  they  all  obeyed  its  summons — for  who 
among  the  aged,  middle-aged,  or  the  young,  did  not  wish 
to  witness  the  marriage  ceremonies  of  their  favourite, 
Ellen  Lawton  ?  Ere  the  tolling  of  the  bell  had  ceased, 
the  gray-haired  man  was  leaning  on  the  finger-worn  ball 
of  his  staff,  in  the  corner  of  his  antiquated  pew  ;  the  hale, 
healthy  farmer  came  next ;  and  then  the  seat  was  filled 
with  rosy-cheeked  boys  and  girls,  till  the  dignified  matron 
brought  up  the  rear  at  the  honourable  head.  The  church 
became  quiet,  eager  eyes  were  fastened  upon  the  door. 
Presently  a  tall  form  entered,  that  of  a  handsome  man, 
apparently  about  thirty  years  of  age,  on  whose  arm  was 
leaning,  in  sweet  childlike  smiling  trust,  the  young  and 
loved  Ellen  Lawton,  whose  rose-cheek  delicately  shaded 
the  pale  face,  and  who  looked  more  beautiful  in  her 
angel  loveliness  than  ever  before,  even  to  the  eyes  of  the 
humble  villagers,  to  whom  she  ever  was  but  a  "  thing  of 
beauty"  and  "a  joy  for  ever."  If  thus  she  looked  to 
familiar  eyes,  how  transcendently  beautiful  must  she  have 
appeared  to  him,  who  this  hour  was  to  make  her  his  own 
chosen  bride,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  the  pride,  the  price 
less  jewel  of  his  heart.  They  stood  before  the  altar  ;  he 
cast  his  dark  eye  upon  her — she  raised  hers,  beaming  in 
tb°ir  blue  depths,  all  full  of  love  and  tenderness,  and  aa 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF    LIFE.  85 

they  met  his,  the  orange  blossoms  trembled  slightly  in 
her  auburn  tresses,  and  the  rose-tint  deepened  on  her 
cheek.  The  voice  of  the  man  of  God  was  heard,  and 
soon  Frederic  Gorton  had  promised  to  "  love,  cherish, 
and  protect,"  and  Ellen  Lawton  to  "love,  honour,  and 
obey."  As  it  ever  is,  so  it  was  there,  an  interesting 
occasion — one  that  might  well  cause  the  eye  to  fill  with 
tears,  the  heart  to  hope,  fearfully  but  earnestly  hope, 
that  that  young  girl's  dreams  may  not  too  soon  fade, 
that  in  him  to  whom  she  has  given  her  heart  she  may 
ever  find  a  firm  friend,  a  ready  counsellor,  a  kind  and 
forbearing  spirit,  a  sympathizing  interest  in  all  her 
thoughts  and  emotions.  On  this  occasion  many  criticis 
ing  glances  were  thrown  upon  the  handsome  stranger, 
and  many  Avhispers  were  circulated. 

"I  fear,"  said  one  of  the  deacon's  good  ladies,  "that 

<he  is  too  proud  and  self-willed  for  our  gentle  Ellen  ;"  and 

she  took  off  her  spectacles,  which  she  wiped  with  her  silk 

handkerchief,  as  if  she  thought  they  were  wearied  of  the 

long  scrutiny  as  her  own  very  eyes. 

Is^there  truth  in  the  good  lady's  suspicion  ?  Look  at 
Frederic  Gorton,  as  he  stands  there  in  his  stateliness, 
towering  above  his  bride,  like  the  oak  of  the  forest  above 
the  flower  at  its  foot.  His  eye  is  very  dark  and  very 
piercing,  but  how  full  of  tenderness  as  he  casts  it  upon 
Ellen's  up-turned  face  !  His  brow  is  lofty,  and  pale,  and 
stern,  but  partially  covered  with  long  dark  hair,  with 
which  lady's  finger  had  never  toyed.  His  cheek  was  as 
if  chiselled  from  marble,  so  perfect  had  the  hand  of  na 
ture  formed  it.  His  mouth — another  space  of  Ellen's 


86  A   TRUE   TALE  OF  LIFE. 

impenetrating  discernment,  would  have  been  reminded 
of  Shakspeare's 

"0,  what  a  deal  of  scorn  looks  beautiful 
In  the  contempt  and  anger  of  his  lip." 

There  was  about  it  that  compression,  so  indicative  of 
firmness,  which,  while  it  commands  respect,  as  often  wins 
love. 

A  perfect  contrast  to  him,  was  the  fairy  thing  at  his 
aide ;  gentle  as  the  floating  breeze  of  evening,  trusting 
AS  true-hearted  woman  ever  is,  lovely,  amiable,  and  beau- 
iiful,  she  was  just  one  to  win  a  strong  man's  love ;  for 
ihere  is  something  grateful  to  a  proud  man  in  having  a 
lelicate,  gentle,  confiding  girl  place  all  her  love  and  trust 
in  him,  and  making  all  her  happiness  derivable  from  his 
will  and  wish.  Heaven's  blessing  rest  upon  him  who 
fulfils  faithfully  that  trust  reposed  in  him,  but  woe  be 
unto  him  who  remembers  not  his  vows  to  love  and  to 
cherish ! 

The  marriage  service  over^  the  friends  of  Ellen  pressed 
eagerly  around  her,  offering  their  many  wishes  for  her 
long  life  and  happiness.  The  gray-haired  man,  and  aged 
mother  in  Israel,  laid  their  hands  on  the  young  bride's 
fair  head,  and  fervently  prayed  "  God  bless  thee  ;"  and 
not  a  few  there  were  who  gave  glances  upward  to  Frede 
ric  Gorton,  and  impressively  said, 

"  Love  as  we  have  loved  the  treasure  God  transfers  to 
thee."  •  , 

The  widowed  mother  of  Ellen  gazed  upon  the  scene 
with  mingled  emotions.  Ellen  was  her  oldest  child,  and 
had  been  her  pride,  her  joy,  and  delight  since  the  death 


A  TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  87 

of  her  husband,  many  years  before.  She  was  giving  her 
to  a  stranger,  whose  reputation  as  a  man  of  talent,  of 
worth,  and  honourable  position  in  the  world  was  unques 
tioned  ;  but  of  whose  private  character  she  had  no  means 
of  acquiring  a  knowledge.  It  was  all  uncertainty  if  a 
stern,  business  man  of  the  world,  should  supply  the  ten 
derness  and  devoted  love  of  a  fond  mother,  to  her  whose 
wish  had  been  hitherto  scarcely  ever  disregarded.  Yet 
it  might  be — she  could  only  hope,  and  her  trust  was  in 
"Him  who  doeth  all  things  well." 

For  the  two  previous  years  Ellen  had  been  at  a  female 
boarding  school  in  a  neighbouring  state,  on  the  anniver 
saries  of  which  she  had  taken  an  active  part  in  the  exa- 
minatory  exercises.  Frederic  Gorton,  who  was  one  of 
the  board,  was  so  much  pleased  with  her,  that  he  made 
of  the  teachers  minute  inquiries  in  regard  to  her  cha 
racter,  which  were  answered  entirely  satisfactorily — for 
Ellen  had  been  a  general  favourite  at  school,  as  well  as 
in  her  own  village.  Afterward  he  called  on  her  fre 
quently,  and  on  her  final  return  home,  Frederic  Gorton, 
who  had  ever  been  so  confident  in  his  eternal  old  bache 
lorship,  accompanied  her,  and  sought  her  from  her  mother 
as  his  bride.  Seldom  does  one  so  gifted  seek  favour  of 
lady  in  vain ;  and  Ellen  Lawton,  hitherto  unsought  and 
unwon,  yielded  up  in  silent  worship  her  whole  heart,  that 
had  involuntarily  bowed  itself  in  his  presence,  and  be 
came  as  a  child  in  reverence. 

But  Frederic  Gorton  had  lived  nearly  thirty-five 
years  of  his  life  among  men.  His  mother  had  died  in 
his  infancy,  his  father  soon  after,  and  he,  an  only  child, 
had  been  educated  in  the  family  of  an  old  bachelor  uncle. 


88  A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE. 

The  influence  of  woman  had  never  been  exerted  on  liia 
heart.  In  his  boyhood  he  had  formed,  from  reading 
works  of  fiction,  an  idea  of  woman  as  perfection  in  all 
things ;  but  as  he  grew  in  years  and  in  wisdom,  and 
learned  the  falsity  of  many  youthful  ideas  and  dreams, 
he  discarded  that  which  he  had  entertained  of  woman, 
and  knowing  nothing  of  her,  but  by  her  general  appear 
ance  of  vanity  and  love  of  pleasure,  he  cherished  for  her 
not  much  respect,  and  regarded  her  as  an  inferior,  to 
whom,  he  thought  in  his  pride,  he  at  least  would  never 
level  himself  by  marriage.  He  smiled  scornfully,  on 
learning  his  appointment  as  trustee  of  the  female  school, 
and  laughingly  said  to  an  old  bachelor  companion : — 

"  They  will  make  me  to  have  care  of  the  gentle  weak 
ones,  whether  I  will  or  no." 

"  0,  yes,"  replied  his  friend,  who  was  somewhat  dis 
posed  to  be  satiric,  "classically  speaking,  ' pulchra 
faciant  te  prole  parentum.'  Depend  upon  it  this  will 
be  your  initiation ;  you  will  surely,  upon  attendance 
there,  be  caught  by  the  smiling  graces  of  some  pretty 
Venus — but,  be  careful ;  remember  there  is  no  escape 
when  once  caught.  Ah,  my  friend,  I  consider  you  quite 
gone.  I  shall  soon  see  in  the  morning  daily — '  Mar 
ried,  on  the  12th,  Hon.  Frederic  Gorton,  of  M , 

to  Miss  Isabella,  Mary,  or  Ellen  Somebody,'  and  then, 
be  assured,  my  best  friend,  Fred,  that  I  shall  heave  a  sigh 
into  pectore,  not  for  myself  only,  but  for  you." 

Some  prophecies,  jestfully  uttered,  are  fulfilled — so 
were  those  of  Frederic's  friend  ;  and  when  they  next  met, 
only  one  was  a  bachelor. 

But  we  will  return  to  that  bright  morning  when  the 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  89 

hell  had  rung  merrily — when  Ellen  Lawton  had  returned 
from  the  village  church  to  her  childhood  home  as  Ellen 
Gorton,  and  was  to  leave  it  for  a  new  home.  After 
entering  the  parlour,  Mr.  Gorton  said, 

"Now,  Ellen,  we  will  be  ready  to  start  in  as  few 
moments  as  possible." 

"Yes,"  answered  Ellen,  "but  I  wish  bo  go  over  to 
Aunt  Mary's,  just  to  bid  her  good-bye." 

"But,  my  dear,"  answered  Frederic,  "there  is  not 
time  ;"  looking  at  his  watch. 

"  Just  a  moment,"  persisted  Ellen.  "  I  will  hurry. 
I  promised  Aunt  Mary ;  she  is  sick  and  cannot  leave  her 
room." 

And,  as  Frederic  answered  not,  and  as  Ellen's  eyes 
were  brimful  of  tears,  she  could  but  half  see  the  im 
patience  expressed  on  his  countenance,  and  hastily 
departed. 

But,  Aunt  Mary  had  innumerable  kisses  to  bestow 
upon  her  favourite,  and  many  words  and  wishes  to  utter, 
brokenly,  in  a  voice  choked  with  tears ;  and  it  was 
many  minutes  ere  she  could  tear  herself  away,  and  on 
her  return  she  met  several  loiterers  from  the  church, 
who  stopped  her  to  look,  as  they  said,  upon  her  sweet 
face  once  more,  and  list  to  her  sweet  voice  again.  She 
hurried  on — Mr.  Gorton  met  her  at  the  door,  and  taking 
her  hand,  said,  sternly, 

"Ellen,  I  wish  you  not  to  delay  a  moment  in  bidding 
adieu  to  your  friends — you  have  already  kept  me  wait 
ing  too  long." 

There  was  no  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he  uttered 
this,  and  it  fell  as  a  weight  upon  Ellen's  heart,  already 


90  A  TRUE   TALE   OF  LIFE. 

saddened  at  the  thought  of  the  parting  with  her  mother 
and  home  friends,  which  must  be  now,  and  which  waa 
soon  over. 

As  the  carriage  rolled  away,  Ellen  grieved  b'.tterly. 
Mr.  Gorton,  who  really  loved  Ellen  sincerely  and  fondly, 
encircled  her  waist  with  his  arm,  and  said,  kindly, 

"  Do  you  feel,  Ellen,  that  you  have  made  too  great  a 
sacrifice  in  leaving  home  and  friends  for  me?" 

"  0,  no,"  answered  Ellen,  raising  to  his  her  love-lit 
countenance,  "  no  sacrifice  could  be  too  great  to  make 
for  you  ;  but  do  you  not  know  I  have  left  all  I  had  to  love 
before  I  loved  you?  And  they  will  miss  me  too  at 
home,  and  will  think  of  me,  how  often,  too,  when  I 
shall  be  thinking  of  you  only  !  Think  it  not  strange  that 
I  weep." 

Nevertheless,  Mr.  Gorton  did  think  it  strange.  lie 
had  no  idea  of  the  tender  associations  clustering  around 
one's  home.  He  had  no  idea  of  the  depth  and  richness 
and  sweetness  of  a  mother's  love,  of  a  sister's  yearning 
fondness,  for  they  ever  had  been  denied  him ;  conso 
quently  the  emotions  that  thrilled  the  heart  of  his  bride 
could  find  no  response  and  met  with  no  sympathy  in  his 
own.  It  was  rather  with  wonder,  than  with  any  other 
sensation,  that  he  regarded  her  sorrow.  Was  she  not 
entering  upon  a  newer  and  higher  sphere  of  life  ?  Was  she 
not  to  be  the  mistress  of  a  splendid  mansion  ?  Was  she 
not  to  be  the  envied  of  many  and  many  a  one  who  had 
feigned  every  attraction  and  exerted  every  effort  for  the 
station  she  was  to  assume ;  and  should  she  weep  with 
this  in  view  ? 

Thus  Mr  Gorton  thought — as  man  often  reasons. 


A  TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  91 

After  having  proceeded  a  little  distance,  they  came 
within  view  of  an  humble  cottage,  Avhen  Ellen  said, 

"  I  must  stop  here,  Mr.  Gorton,  and  see  Grandma 
Nichols  (she  was  an  elderly  member  of  the  church  of 
which  Ellen  was  a  member),  and  when  I  was  last  to  see 
her,  she  said,  as  she  should  not  be  able  to  walk  to  church 
to  see  me  married,  I  must  call  on  her,  or  she  should 
think  me  proud.  I  will  stop  for  a  moment — just  a 
moment,"  she  added,  after  a  pause,  observing  he  did  not 
answer. 

They  were  just  opposite  the  cottage  at  that  moment, 
yet  he  gave  no  orders  to  stop.  With  a  fresh  burst  of 
tears,  Ellen  exclaimed, 

"  Please,  Mr.  Gorton,  let  me  see  her.  I  may  never 
see  her  again,  and  she  will  think  I  did  not  care  to  bid 
her  a  last  farewell." 

But  Mr.  Gorton  said, 

"  Really,  Ellen,  I  am  very  much  surprised  at  the 
apparent  necessity  of  trifles  to  make  your  happiness. 
You  went  to  see  your  aunt  after  I  had  assured  you 
there  was  not  time.  I  wish  you  to  remember  that  your 
little  wishes  and  whims,  however  important  they  may 
seem  to  you,  cannot  seem  of  such  importance  to  me 
as  to  interfere  with  my  arrangements.  What  matters  it 
if  my  bride  do  not  say  farewell  to  an  old  woman  whom 
I  never  heard  of,  and  shall  never  think  of  again,  and  who 
will  soon  probably  die  and  cease  to  remember  that  you 
slighted  her?" 

And  he  laid  Ellen's  head  upon  his  shoulder,  and 
wiping  the  tears  from  her  face,  wondered  of  what  nature 
incomprehensible  she  was. 


92  A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE. 

But,  it  did  matter  to  her  in  more  respects  than  one, 
that  she  was  not  permitted  to  call  at  the  cottage.  A 
mind  so  sensitive  as  Ellen's  feels  the  least  neglect  and 
the  slightest  reproof,  and  is  equally  pained  by  giving 
cause  for  pain,  as  receiving.  Besides,  how  much  was 
expressed  in  that  last  sentence  of  Mr.  Gorton's,  accom 
panying  the  denial  of  her  simple  request !  How  much 
contained  in  that  denial,  too  !  How  plainly  she  read  in 
it  the  future — how  fully  did  it  reveal  the  disposition  of 
him  by  whose  will  she  saw  she  was  herself  to  be  hereafter 
governed !  Though  her  mind  was  full  of  these  thoughts, 
there  was  no  less  of  love  for  him — love  in  Ellen  Lawton 
could  never  change,  though  she  wondered,  too,  how  he 
could  refuse  what  seemed  to  her  so  easy  to  grant.  And 
so  they  both  silently  pursued  their  way,  wondering  in 
their  hearts  as  to  the  nature  of  each  other.  This,  how 
ever,  did  not  continue  long ;  and  aoon  Ellen's  tears  ceased 
to  flow,  and  she  listened,  delighted,  to  the  eloquent  words 
of  her. gifted  husband,  spoken  in  the  most  musical  and 
rich  of  all  voices. 

Woman  will  have  love  for  her  husband  so  long  as  she 
has  admiration,  and  Ellen  knew  she  would  never  cease 
to  admire  the  talents  and  brilliant  acquirements  of  Fre 
deric  Gorton. 

After  several  days'  travel  through  a  delightfully  ro 
mantic  country,  they  reached  the  town  of  M ,  where 

was  the  residence  of  Mr.  Gorton.  It  was  an  elegant 
mansion,  the  exterior  planned  and  finished  in  the  most 
tasteful  and  handsome  style — the  interior  equally  so — 
and  furnished  with  all  that  a  young  bride  of  most  culti- 
rated  taste  could  desire.  The  eye  of  Ellen  was  delighted 


A   TRUE    TALE    OF    LIBE.  93 

and  surprised,  even  to  tears,  and  inaudibly,  but  fervently 
in  her  heart  she  murmured,  "  how  devotedly  will  I  love 
him  who  has  provided  for  me  so  much  comfort  and  splen 
dour,  and  how  cheerfully  will  I  make  sacrifices  of  my 
feelings,  '  my  wishes  and  my  whims,'  for  him  who  has 
loved  me  so  much  as  to  make  me  his  wife !"  and  she 
gazed  into  her  husband's  face  through  her  tears,  and 
kissed  reverently  his  hand. 

"  Why  weep  you,  my  Ellen  ?    Are  you  not  pleased  ?" 

"  0,  yes ;  but  you  have  done  too  much  for  me.  I  can 
never  repay  you,  only  in  my  love,  which  is  so  boundless 
I  have  not  dared  to  breathe  it  all  to  you,  nor  could  I." 

Gorton  looked  upon  her  in  greater  astonishment  than 
before.  Tears  he  had  ever  associated  with  sorrow;  and 
surely,  thought  he,  here  is  no  occasion  for  tears,  and  he 
said, 

'•  Well,  if  you  love  me,  you  will  hasten  to  wipe  away 
those  tears,  and  let  me  see  you  in  smiles.  I  do  not  often 
smile  myself,  therefore  the  more  need  for  my  lady  to  do 
so.  Moreover,  we  may  expect  a  multitude  of  callers ; 
and  think,  Ellen,  of  the  effect  of  any  one's  seeing  the 
bride  in  tears." 

Calling  a  servant  to  conduct  her  to  her  dressing-room, 
and  expressing  his  wish  for  her  to  dress  in  her  most  be 
coming  manner,  he  left  her. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  Ellen  was  admired  and 
loved  by  all  the  friends  of  her  husband,  even  by  his 
brother  judges  and  politicians.  Herbert  Lester,  the  par 
ticular  friend  of  Mr.  Gorton,  whose  prophecy  had  thus 
loon  been  verified,  came  many  miles  to  express  personally 
his  sympathy  and  condolence.  These  he  changed  to  COP 


94  A   TRUE  TALE   OF   LIFE. 

gratulations,  when  he  felt  the  influence  of  the  grace  and 
beauty  of  the  wife  of  his  friend — and  he  declared  that 
he  would  make  an  offer  of  his  hand  and  heart,  could  he 
find  another  Ellen. 

Meanwhile  time  passed,  and  thougli  Ellen  was  daily 
called  upon  to  yield  her  own  particular  preferences  to 
Mr.  Gorton's,  as  she  had  done  even  on  her  bridal  day, 
she  was  comparatively  happy.  Had  she  possessed  less 
keenness  of  sensibility,  she  might  have  been  happier ;  or 
had  Mr.  Gorton  possessed  more,  that  he  could  have  un 
derstood  her,  many  tears  would  have  been  spared  her. 
Oftentimes,  things  comparatively  trifling  to  him  would 
wound  the  sensitive  nature  of  Ellen  most  painfully,  and 
he  of  course  would  have  no  conception  wliy  they  should 
thus  affect  her. 

Occupied  as  he  was  mostly  with  worldly  transactions 
and  political  affairs,  Ellen's  mind  often,  in  his  absence, 
reverted  to  the  scenes  of  her  youth,  and  her  childhood 
home,  her  mother,  and  the  bright  band  of  her  young 
Bisters  ;  and  longings  would  come  up  in  her  heart  to  be 
hold  them  once  more. 

Two  years  having  passed  without  her  having  seen  one 
member  of  her  family,  she  one  day  asked  Mr.  Gorton 
if  it  would  not  be  convenient  soon  to  make  a  visit  to 
Chester.  He  answered  that  his  arrangements  would  not 
admit  of  it  at  present — and  coldly  and  cruelly  asked  her 
if  she  had  yet  heard  of  Grandma  Nichols'  decease. 
Ellen  answered  not,  and  bent  her  head  over  the  face  of 
her  little  Frederic,  who  was  sleeping,  to  hide  her  tears. 
Perceiving  her  emotion,  however,  he  added, 

"  Ellen,  I  assure  you  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  comply 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  95 

with  your  wish,  but  I  will  write  to  your  mother,  and 
urge  her  to  visit  us — will  not  that  do  ?" 

Ellen's  face  brightened,  as  with  a  beam  of  sunshine, 
ind  springing  to  her  husband's  bide,  she  laid  her  glow 
ing  cheek  upon  his,  and  then  smiled  upon  him  so  sweetly 
that  even  the  cold  heart  of  Frederic  Gorton  glowed  with 
a  warmth  unusual. 

Seven  years  passed  away,  leaving  their  shadows  as 
the  sun  does.  And  Ellen — 

"  But  matron  care,  or  lurking  woe, 
Her  thoughtless,  sinless  look  had  banished, 
And  from  her  cheek  the  roseate  glow 
Of  girlhood's  balmy  morn  had  vanished; 
Within  her  eyes,  upon  her  brow, 
Lay  something  softer,  fonder,  deeper, 
As  if  in  dreams  some  visioned  woe 
Has  broke  the  Elysium  of  the  sleeper." 

Never  yet,  since  that  bright  bridal  m,rn,  had  Ellen 
looked  upon  her  native  village,  though  scarcely  three 
hundred  miles  separated  her  from  it.  Now  her  heart 
beat  quick  and  joyfully,  for  her  husband  had  told  her 
that  business  would  call  him  to  that  vicinity  in  a  few 
days,  and  she  might  accompany  him.  With  all  the  wil 
ful  eagerness  of  a  child  she  set  her  heart  on  that  visit, 
and  from  morning  till  night  she  would  talk  with  her 
little  boys  of  the  journey  to  what  seemed  to  her  the 
brightest,  most  sacred  spot  on  earth,  next  to  her  present 
home.  And  the  home  of  one's  childhood  !  no  matter 
how  sweet,  how  dear  and  beloved  the  home  the  heart 
afterwards  loves,  it  never  forgets,  it  never  ceases  most 


9Q  A   TRUE   TALE   OF    LIFE. 

fondly  to  turn  bu,ck  to  the  memories,  and  the  scenes,  and 
the  friends  of  its  early  years. 

One  fault,  if  fault  it  might  be  called,  among  so  many 
excellencies  in  Ellen's  character,  was  that  of  putting  off' 
"till  to-morrow  what  should  be  done  to-day."  This  had 
troubled  Mr.  Gorton  exceedingly,  who,  prompt  himself, 
would  naturally  wish  others  to  be  so  also,  and  notwith 
standing  his  constant  complaints,  and  Ellen's  desire 
to  please  him,  she  had  not  yet  overcome  her  nature  in 
that  respect,  though  she  had  greatly  improved.  The 
evening  preceding  the  intended  departure,  Mr.  Gorton 
said  to  his  wife, 

"  Now,  Ellen,  I  hope  you  will  have  everything  in 
readiness  for  an  early  departure  in  the  morning.  Have 
the  boys  and  yourself  all  read}r  the  moment  the  carriage 
is  at  the  door,  for  you  know  I  do  not  like  *o  be  obliged 
to  wait." 

Almost  before  the  stars  had  disappeared  in  the  sky, 
Ellen  was  busy  in  her  final  preparations.  She  was  sure 
she  should  have  everything  in  season,  and  wondered  how 
her  husband  could  suppose  otherwise,  upon  an  occasion 
in  which  she  had  so  much  interest.  Several  minutes 
before  the  appointed  time,  Ellen  had  all  in  readiness  for 
departure,  the  trunks  all  packed  and  locked,  the  children 
in  their  riding  dresses  and  caps ;  and  proceeding  from 
her  dressing-room  to  the  front  hall  door,  she  was  think 
ing  that  this  time,  certainly,  she  should  not  hear  the  so 
oft  repeated  complaint — 

"  Ellen,  you  are  always  too  late  !" 

— when,  to  her  dismay,  she  met  Georgie,  her  youngest 
boy,   dripping  with    mud   and   water    from    the    brook, 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF    LIFE.  97 

trhence  he  had  just  issued,  where,  he  said,  he  had 
ventured  in  chase  of  a  goose,  which  had  impudently 
hissed  at  him,  which  insult  the  young  boy,  in  his  own 
conception  a  spirited  knight  of  the  regular  order,  could 
not  brook,  and  in  his  wrath  had  pursued  the  offender  to 
his  place  of  retreat,  much  to  the  detriment  of  his  dross. 

Ellen  was  in  consternation  ;  but  one  thing  was  evident 
— Georgie's  dress  must  be  changed.  With  trembling 
hands  she  unlocked  a  trunk,  and  sought  for  a  change  of 
dress,  while  the  waiting-maid  proceeded  to  disrobe  the 
child. 

Just  at  this  moment  Mr.  Gorton  entered,  saying  the 
carriage  was  at  the  door.  Various  things  had  occurred 
that  morning  to  perplex  him,  and  he  was  in  a  bad 
humour.  Seeing  Ellen  thus  engaged  with  the  trunk, 
as  he  thought,  not  half  packed,  various  articles  being 
upon  the  carpet,  and  Georgie  in  no  wise  ready,  the  cloud 
came  over  his  brow,  and  he  said,  harshly, 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  thus,  Ellen, — I  have  never  known 
you  to  be  in  readiness  yet ;  but  you  must  know  I  am  not 
to  be  trifled  with." 

And  with  this,  not  heeding  the  explanation  she 
attempted  to  make,  he  seized  his  valise  and  left  the 
room.  Jumping  into  the  carriage,  he  commanded  the 
driver  to  proceed. 

Ellen  heard  the  carriage  rolling  away,  in  astonish 
ment.  She  ran  to  the  door,  and  watched  it  in  the  dis- 
vance.  But  she  thought  it  could  not  be  possible  he  had 
gone  without  her — he  would  return :  and  she  hastened 
the  maid,  and  still  kept  watching  at  the  door.  She 
waited  in  vain,  for  he  returned  not. 


98  A    TRUE   TALE    DF   LliTE. 

The  excitement  into  which  Ellen  was  thrown  by  the 
anticipation  of  meeting  her  friends  once  more,  may  be 
readily  imagined  by  those  similarly  constituted  with  her, 
and  the  reaction  occasioned  by  her  disappointment,  also. 
Her  heart  had  been  entirely  fixed  upon  it,  and  what  but 
cruelty  was  it  in  her  husband  to  deprive  her  thus  so 
unreasonably  of  so  great  an  enjoyment — to  her  so 
exquisite  a  pleasure  ? 

In  the  sudden  rush  of  her  feelings,  she  recalled  the 
last  seven  years  of  her  life,  and  could  recollect  no 
instance  in  which  she  had  failed  doing  all  in  her  power 
to  contribute  to  her  husband's  happiness.  On  the  other 
hand,  had  he  not  often  wounded  her  feelings  unneces 
sarily  ?  Had  he  ever  denied  himself  anything  for  her 
sake,  but  required  of  her  sacrifice  of  her  own  wishes  to 
his? 

The  day  wore  away,  and  the  night  found  Ellen  in  a 
burning  fever.  The  servant  who  went  for  the  physician 
in  the  early  morning,  said  she  had  raved  during  the 
latter  part  of  the  night.  As  the  family  physician 
entered  the  room,  she  said,  mildly, 

"  0,  do  not  go  and  leave  me !  I  am  all  ready — all 
ready.  Do  not  go — it  will  kill  me  if  you  go." 

The  doctor  took  her  hand ;  it  was  very  hot ;  and  her 
brow  was  terribly  throbbing  and  burning.  He  remained 
with  her  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  but  the  attack  of 
fever  on  the  brain  had  been  so  violent  that  no  attempt 
for  relief  was  of  avail. 

She  grew  worse ;  and  about  midnight,  with  the  words — • 

"  0,  do  not  go,  Mr.  Gorton, — do  not  go  and  leave 
me!" 
—her  spirit  tools  its  flight, 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  99 

And  the  morning  dawned  on  Ellen  in  her  death-sleep 
— dawned  as  beautiful  as  that  bright  one,  when-  the  bell 
rang  merrily  for  her  bridal.  Now  the  dismal  death- 
notes  pealed  forth  the  departure  of  her  spirit  to  a 
brighter  world.  Would  not  even  an  angel  weep  to  look 
upon  one  morning,  and  then  upon  the  other  ? 

The  birds,  from  the  cage  in  the  window,  poured  forth 
their  songs ;  but  they  fell  unheeded  on  the  ears  they  had 
so  often  delighted.  The  voices  of  Fred  and  Georgie, 
ever  as  music  to  the  loving  heart  of  the  young  mother, 
would  fall  thrillingly  on  her  ear  no  more.  She  lay 
there,  still  and  cold — her  dreams  over — her  hopes  all 
passed  by — the  sun  of  her  young  life  set — and  how  f 

People  came  in,  one  after  another,  to  look  upon  her — 
and  wept  that  one  so  young  and  good  should  die.  They 
closed  her  eyes — they  laid  her  in  her  grave-clothes,  and 
folded  her  pale  hands — and  there  she  lay  ! 

And  now  we  leave  that  chamber  of  the  too-early  dead. 
Mr.  Gorton's  feelings  of  anger  .soon  subsided.  In  a  few 
hours  he  felt  oppressed  with  a  sense  of  the  grief  Ellen 
would  experience.  His  feelings  prompted  him  to  return 
for  her.  Several  times  he  put  his  head  out  of  the  window 
to  order  the  driver  to  return,  but,  his  pride  intervening, 
he  as  often  desisted.  Yet  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease.  He, 
also,  involuntarily,  reviewed  the  period  of  his  wedded 
life.  He  recalled  the  goodness,  and  patience,  and  sweet 
ness,  which  Ellen  had  ever  shown  him — the  warm  lova 
she  had  ever  evinced  for  him :  and  his  heart  seemed  to 
appreciate,  for  the  first  time,  the  value  and  character  of 
Ellen.  He  felt  how  unjust  and  unkind  he  had  often 
been  to  her — he  wondered  he  could  have  been  so. — and 


100  A  TRUE   TALE   OF    LIFE. 

resolved  that,  henceforth,  he  would  show  her  more 
tenderness. 

As  he  stopped  for  the  night,  at  a  public-house,  his 
resolution  was  to  return  early  in  the  morning.  Yet,  his 
business  must  be  attended  to.4  It  was  a  case  of  emer 
gency.  He  finally  resolved  to  intrust  it  with  a  lawyer 
acquaintance,  who  lived  a  half  day's  ride  distant  from 
where  he  then  was.  Thus  he  did ;  and,  about  noon  of 
the  following  day,  returned  homeward.  He  was  sur 
prised  at  his  own  uneasiness  and  impatience.  He  had 
never  so  longed  to  meet  Ellen.  He  fancied  his  meeting 
with  her — her  joy  at  his  return — her  tears  for  her  dis 
appointment — his  happiness  in  restoring  her  heart  to 
happiness,  by  an  increasing  tenderness  of  manner,  and 
by  instantly  gratifying  her  wish  of  a  return  home. 

All  day  and  night  'he  travelled.  It  was  early  morn 
ing  when  he  arrived  at  his  own  door.  He  was  surprised 
at  the  trembling  emotions  and  quickened  beating  of  his 
heart,  as  he  descended  the  steps  of  his  carriage,  and 
ascended  those  to  his  own  door.  He  passed  on  to  the 
room  of  his  wife.  The  light  gleamed  through  the  small 
opening  over  the  door,  and  he  thought  he  heard  whis 
pers.  Softly  he  opened  the  door.  0  !  what  a  terrible, 
heart-rending  scene  was  before  him  ! — The  watchers  left 
the  room ;  and  Mr.  Gorton  stood  alone,  in  speechless 
agony,  before  the  being  made  voiceless  by  himself. 

The  sensibility  so  long  slumbering  within  his  worldly, 
hardened  heart,  was  aroused  to  the  very  keenness  of 
torture.  And  Ellen,  gentle  spirit  that  she  was, — how 
would  she  have  grieved  to  have  seen  the  heart  she  had 


A   TRUE   TALE   OF   LIFE.  101 

loved  so  overwhelmed  with  grief,  regret,  remorse,  de 
spair  ! 

"Ellen  !  my  own  Ellen  !' 

But  she  could  not  hear  ! 

"  I  have  killed  thee,  gentlest  and  best !" 

But  the  kindness  of  her  heart  was  not  open  noio ! 
"  I  forgive  thee,"  could  not  fall  from  those  lips  so  pale ! 
"  I  U  ve  thee,"  could  never  come  upon  his  ear  again — 
never — and  "NEVER!"  thrilled  his  soul,  every  chord  of 
which  was  strung  to  its  intensity  ! 

If  anything  could  have  added  to  the  grief  inconsolable 
of  iha  man  stricken  in  his  sternness  and  pride,  it  was 
the  grief  of  his  two  motherless  boys,  as  they  called  on 
their  mother's  name  in  vain,  and  asked  him  why  she 
slept  so  long ! 

Few  knew  why  Ellen  died  so  suddenly  and  so  young; 
but,  while  Mr.  Gorton  preserved  in  his  heart  her  memo 
ry  arid  her  virtues,  he  remembered,  and  mourned  in 
bitterness  and  unavailing  anguish,  that  it  was  his  own 
thoughtless,  but  not  the  less  cruel,  unkindness,  that  laid 
her  in  her  early  grave. 

Never  came  the  smile  again  upon  his  face  ;  and  never, 
though  fond  mammas  manoeuvred  and  insinuated,  and 
fair  daughters  flattered  and  praised,  did  he  wed  again ; 
for  his  heart  was  buried  with  his  Ellen,  whom  he  too  late 
loved  as  he  should  have  loved.  His  love — 

"  It  came  a  sunbeam  on  a  blasted  flower." 

"Washington  Irving,  in  his  beautiful  "  Affection  for  tho 
Dead,"  says :  "  Go  to  the  grave  of  buried  love,  and  me- 


102  MAN   AND   WOMAN. 

ditate.  There  settle  the  account  with  thy  conscience, 
for  every  past  benefit  unrequited,  every  past  endearment 
unregarded.  Console  thyself,  if  thou  canst,  with  this 
simple,  yet  futile  tribute  of  regret,  and  take  warning  by 
this,  thine  unavailing  sorrow  for  the  dead,  and  hence 
forward  be  more  faithful  and  affectionate  in  the  discharge 
of  thy  duties  to  th  3  living  !" 


MAN  AND  WOMAN. 

AN  eloquent,  true,  and  beautiful  article  from  the  pen 
of  a  woman  and  a  wife  (and  no  woman  not  a  wife,  do 
we  believe  fully  competent  to  write  on  this  subject),  re 
cently  met  our  eyes  in  the  pages  of  a  periodical.  Its 
title  was  "  Conjugial  Love."  The  Latin  word  conjugial 
was  used  by  the  writer  to  indicate  the  true  spiritual 
union  of  man  and  wife  in  contradistinction  to  the  mere 
natural  union  as  expressed  in  the  word  conjugal.  From 
this  article  let  us  make  an  extract : — 

"  Man  is  an  angular  mathematical  form,  exactly  true, 
but  not  beautiful.  Woman  seizes  this  form,  and  from 
the  crucible  of  her  warm  love  she  moulds  the  truth  into 
grace  and  beauty.  For  man's  understanding  deals  in 
outermost  truths.  But  the  Lord  has  blessed  woman  with 
perceptive  faculties  above  the  sphere  of  man's  reason, 
and  while  he  looks  to  the  outermost  relations  of  things 
she  at  a  glance  perceives  the  inmost.  Hence  she  be 
comes,  as  it  were,  the  soul  of  his  thought;  she  is  the  will 


MAN   AND   WOMAN.  103 

and  he  the  intellectual  principle ;  she  is  governed  and 
guided  by  him,  while  he  in  all  things  is  modified  by  her 
will,-  and  scarce  recognises  his  own  crude  thought  in  her 
plastic  feminine  representation  of  it ;  hence  he  thinks 
oftentimes  that  he  acts  from  her  wisdom,  forgetting  that 
she  has  no  wisdom  except  through  him. 

"  Thus  woman  dwells  in  the  heart  of  man,  as  in  some 
fair  and  stately  palace,  and  she  looks  forth  into  his  gar 
den  of  Eden,  his  whole  spirit  world  of  thought ;  she 
knows  every  lofty  tree,  every  blooming  flower  and  odor 
ous  plant  and  herb  for  the  use  of  man,  and  every  singing 
bird  that  soars  heavenward  in  her  beautiful  domain,  and 
she  culls  the  fairest  of  flowers  and  weaves  bright -gar 
lands,  and  adorns  the  brow  of  her  beloved  with  his  own 
thoughts,  while  he  even  thinks  that  she  is  bestowing 
treasures  out  of  herself  upon  him.  This  gives  to  woman 
a  sportive  grace,  a  gentle  lovingness,  an  apparent  wil- 
fulness,  a  delight  in  the  power  which  she  has  through 
man,  while  she  knows  that  he  is  the  link  that  binds  her 
to  Heaven,  and  thus  she  is  humble  and  grateful  and 
yielding  in  the  height  of  her  power.  How  beautiful  is 
the  life  of  conjugial  partners  !  The  woman  flows  into 
the  thought  of  man  like  influent  life ;  she  knows  all 
things  that  are  in  him,  hence  she  can  adapt  herself  to 
his  every  variation ;  she  calms  him  when  excited,  ele 
vates  him  when  he  is  depressed,  regulates  him  by  her 
heaven-given  power,  as  a  good  heart  regulates  the  judg 
ment.  The  Lord  loves  the  man  through  the  woman, 
and  loves '  the  woman  through  the  man,  and  these  two 
distinct  and  separate  confluent  streams,  from  the  foun 
tain  of  Divine  life,  rejoice  in  their  blessed  and  beautiful 


104  MAN   AND   WOMAN. 

union,  as  like  ever  does  when  it  meets  its  like.  And  it 
ts  only  when  the  two  streams  unite  that  they  can  reflect 
the  Divine  image  ;  they  are  noisy,  turbulent,  and  turbid, 
until  the  meeting  of  the  waters  of  life,  and  then  in  a 
calm,  serene,  deep,  and  beautiful  blessedness  they  flow 
on  so  softly  and  smoothly  that  the  holy  heavens  and  the 
Divine  sun  mirror  themselves  in  the  clear  waters ;  and 
if  night,  chill  and  drear,  draws  its  darkening  curtain 
around  them,  soon  the  silver  moon  of  a  trusting  faith 
floods  them  with  a  gentle  radiance,  and  bright  stars  of 
intelligence  gild  the  night's  darkness,  and  they  patiently 
await  the  dawn  of  an  eternal  day,  when  their  joyous 
waters  will  again  flow  in  the  sunshine  of  heaven."  *  * 

"  When  the  Lord  in  His  Divine  Providence  brings  the 
two  together,  in  this  life,  that  were  created  the  one  for 
the  other,  their  union  is  wrought  out  by  slow  degrees. 
The  false  and  evil  is  to  be  put  off  before  the  Divine  life 
can  ultimate  itself — an  unceasing  regeneration  is  going 
on — a  purifying  from  self-love  is  the  daily  life  of  two 
partners.  The  wisdom  which  the  man  has  from  the 
Lord,  and  the  love  which  the  woman  has  from  Him,  are 
ever  seeking  conjunction.  But  the  false  and  the  evil 
that  clings  to  every  earthly  being  is  constantly  warring 
against  this  Heavenly  union ;  in  conjugial  partners,  hell 
is  opposed  to  heaven,  and  it  is  only  by  a  steady  looking 
to  the  Lord,  that  Heavenly  love  can  be  preserved.  The 
Lord  opens  the  inmost  degree  of  thought  and  feeling  in 
the  two,  and  elevates  their  love  to  higher  planes,  and 
thus  increases  their  joys  and  felicities;  and  when  it  is  a 
true  spiritual  love,  an  entire  union  of  heart  and  mind, 
then  the  two  have  entered  heaven,  and  enjoy  its  beauti- 


MAN   AND   WOMAN.  105 

ful  blessedness  even  while  their  material  bodies  yet  dwell 
upon  this  coarse  outer  world. 

"  How  wonderful  is  the  wisdom  of  the  Lord  !  How 
blessed  is  His  love,  in  thus  creating  two  that  they  may 
become  a  one  I  The  sympathy,  the  gentle  affection,  the 
losing  tender  confidence,  that,  like  magnetic  thrills, 
makes  one  conscious  of  the  inmost  life  of  the  other, 
gives  a  charm — a  fulness  of  satisfaction — a  serene  bles 
sedness  to  existence,  that  no  isolated  being  can  possibly 
conceive  of,  let  external  circumstances  be  what  they 
may. 

"  Conjugial  love  is  independent  of  external  circum 
stances  ;  it  is  heaven-derived,  and  receives  nothing  from 
the  earth.  It  gives  heavenly  joy  to  all  of  its  surround 
ings.  It  is  that  glorious  inner  sunshine  of  life,  that 
blesses  the  poor  man  as  boundlessly  as  the  rich.  And 
how  beautiful  it  is  for  two  to  realize  that  time  and  space 
have  nothing  to  do  with  their  union.  In  each  other  they 
see  eternity ;  they  know  from  whence  their  emotions 
flow,  and  know  that  the  fountain  is  Infinite.  The  Lord 
is  the  beginning  and  end ;  to  them,  the  first  and  the 
last.  They  live  in  Him, /row  Him,  and  to  Him.  They 
love  only  His  Divine  image  in  each  other;  they  seek  to 
do  good  to  others,  as  organs  of  His  Divine  life.  He  is 
the  glory  and  blessedness  of  their  whole  being. 

•'  And  if  such  blissful  emotions  can  be  realized  in  this 
cold,  hard,  ungenial,  outer  life,  what  must  it  be  when 
the  two  pass  into  the  conscious  presence  of  the  Divine 
Father,  and  behold  each  other  not  in  angular  material 
forms,  and  dead  material  light,  but  in  the  Divine  light 
of  Heaven,  in  Heavenly  forms, — radiant  in  intelligence 


106  THE   FAIRY   WIFE. 

— glowing  in  the  rosy  love  of  eternal  youth — beautiful 
in  the  '  beauty  of  the  Lord  ?'  " 

How  pure,  how  wise,  how  beautiful !  Here  is  the  true 
doctrine,  that  man  and  woman  are  not  equal  in  the  sense 
BO  often  asserted  in  these  modern  times ;  that  they  are 
created  with  radical  differences,  and  that  the  life  of 
neither  is  perfect  until  they  unite  in  marriage  union— 
oue  man  with  one  wife. 


THE  FAIRY  WIFE. 

AN   APOLOGUE. 

A  MERCHANT  married  a  Fairy.  He  was  so  manly,  so 
earnest,  so  energetic,  and  so  loving,  that  her  heart  was 
constrained  toward  him,  and  she  gave  up  her  heritage  in 
Fairyland  to  accept  the  lot  of  woman. 

They  were  married  ;  they  were  happy ;  and  the  early 
months  glided  away  like  the  vanishing  pageantry  of  a 
dream. 

Before  the  year  was  over  he  had  returned  to  his 
affairs ;  they  were  important  and  pressing,  and  occupied 
more  and  more  of  his  time.  But  every  evening  as  he 
hastened  back  to  her  side  she  felt  the  weariness  of  ab 
sence  more  than  repaid  by  the  delight  of  his  presence. 
She  sat  at  his  feet,  and  sang  to  him,  and  prattled  away 
the  remnant  of  care  that  lingered  in  his  mind. 

But  his  cares  multiplied.  The  happiness  of  many 
families  depended  on  him.  His  affairs  were  vast  and 


THE   FAIRY   WIFE.  107 

complicated,  and  they  kept  him  longer  away  from  her. 
All  the  day,  while  he  was  amidst  his  bales  of  merchan 
dise,  she  roamed  along  the  banks  of  a  sequestered  stream, 
weaving  bright  fancy  pageantries,  or  devising  airy  gaye- 
ties  with  which  to  charm  his  troubled  spirit.  A  bright 
and  sunny  being,  she  comprehended  nothing  of  care. 
Life  was  abounding  in  her.  She  knew  not  the  disease 
of  reflection ;  she  felt  not  the  perplexities  of  life.  To 
sing  and  to  laugh — to  leap  the  stream  and  beckon  him 
to  leap  after  her,  as  he  used  in  the  old  lover-days,  when 
she  would  conceal  herself  from  him  in  the  folds  of  a 
water-lily — to  tantalize  and  enchant  him  with  a  thousand 
coquetries — this  was  her  idea  of  how  they  should  live ; 
and  when  he  gently  refused  to  join  her  in  these  child 
like  gambols,  and  told  her  of  the  serious  work  that 
awaited  him,  she  raised  her  soft  blue  eyes  to  him  in  a 
baby  wonderment,  not  comprehending  what  he  meant,  but 
acquiescing,  with  a  sigh,  because  he  said  it. 

She  acquiesced,  but  a  soft  sadness  fell  upon  her.  Life 
to  her  was  Love,  and  nothing  more.  A  soft  sadness 
also  fell  upon  him.  Life  to  him  was  Love,  and  some 
thing  more ;  and  he  saw  with  regret  that  she  did  not 
comprehend  it.  The  wall  of  Care,  raised  by  busy  hands, 
was  gradually  shutting  him  out  from  her.  If  she  visited 
him  during  the  day,  she  found  herself  a  hindrance  and 
retired.  When  he  came  to  her  at  sunset  he  was  pre 
occupied.  She  sat  at  his  feet,  loving  his  anxious  face. 
He  raised  tenderly  the  golden  ripple  of  loveliness  that 
fell  in  ringlets  on  her  neck,  and  kissed  her  soft  beseech 
ing  eyes ;  but  tl  ere  was  a  something  in  his  eyes,  a  remote 
look,  as  if  his  soul  were  afar,  busy  with  other  things, 


108  THE   FAIRY   WIFE. 

tthich  made  her  little  heart  almost  burst  with  uncompre- 
hended  jealousy. 

She  would  steal  up  to  him  at  times  when  he  was 
absorbed  in  calculations,  and  throwing  her  arms  around 
his  neck,  woo  him  from  his  thought.  A  smile,  revealing 
love  in  its  very  depths,  would  brighten  his  anxious  face, 
as  for  a  moment  he  pushed  aside  the  world,  and  concen 
trated  all  his  being  in  one  happy  feeling. 

She  could  win  moments  from  him,  she  could  not  win 
his  life ;  she  could  charm,  she  could  not  occupy  him ! 
The  painful  truth  came  slowly  over  her,  as  the  deepen 
ing  shadows  fall  upon  a  sunny  Day,  until  at  last  it  is 
Night :  Night  with  her  stars  of  infinite  beauty,  but  with 
out  the  lustre  and  warmth  of  Day. 

She  drooped ;  and  on  her  couch  of  sickness  her  keen- 
sighted  love  perceived,  through  all  his  ineffable  tender 
ness,  that  same  remoteness  in  his  eyes,  which  proved  that, 
even  as  he  sat  there  grieving  and  apparently  absorbed  in 
her,  there  still  came  dim  remembrances  of  Care  to  vex 
and  occupy  his  soul. 

"It  were  better  I  were  dead,"  she  thought;  "I  am 
not  good  enough  for  him." 

Poor  child !  Not  good  enough,  because  her  simple 
nature  knew  not  the  manifold  perplexities,  the  hindrances 
of  incomplete  life  !  Not  good  enough,  because  her  whole 
life  was  scattered ! 

And  so  she  breathed  herself  away,  and  left  her  hus 
band  to  all  his  gloom  of  Care,  made  tenfold  darker  by 
the  absence  of  those  gleams  of  tenderness  which  before 
had  fitfully  irradiated  life.  The  night  was  starless,  and 
Ije  alone. 


A  BRIEF  HISTORY,  IN  THREE  PARTS,  WITH  A  SEQUEL. 

PART  I.— LOVE. 
A  GLANCE — a  thought — a  blow— 

It  stings  him  to  the  core. 
A  question — will  it  lay  him  low? 

Or  will  time  heal  it  o'er  ? 

He  kindles  at  the  name — 

He  sits  and  thinks  apart ; 
Time  blows  and  blows  it  to  a  Same, 

Burning  within  his  heart. 

lie  loves  it  though  it  burns, 

And  nurses  it  with  care  ; 
He  feels  the  blissful  pain  by  turns 

With  hope,  and  with  despair. 

PART  II.— COURTSHIP. 

Sonnets  and  serenades, 

Sighs,  glances,  tears,  and  vows, 
Gifts,  tokens,  souvenirs,  parades, 

And  courtesies  and  bows. 

A  purpose  and  a  prayer ; 

The  stars  are  in  the  sky — 
He  wonders  how  e'en  hope  should  dam 

To  let  him  aim  so  high  ! 

Still  hope  allures  and  flatters, 

And  doubt  just  makes  him  bold; 
And  so,  with  passion  all  in  tatters, 

The  trembling  tale  is  told. 

Apologies  and  blushes, 

Soft  looks,  averted  eyes, 
Each  heart  into  the  other  rushes, 

Each  yields,  and  wins  a  prize. 


110  A   BRIEF   HISTORY. 

PART  III.— MARRIAGE. 

A  gathering  of  fond  friends, — 

Brief,  solemn  words,  and  prayer,— 

A  trembling  to  the  fingers'  ends. 
As  hand  in  hand,  they  swear. 

Sweet  cake,  sweet  wine,  sweet  kisses, 

And  so  the  deed  is  done ; 
Now  for  life's  waves  and  blisses. 

The  wedded  two  are  one. 

And  down  the  shining  stream, 
They  launch  their  buoyant  skiff, 

Bless'd,  if  they  may  but  trust  hope's  drenm, 
But  ah  1  Truth  echoes—"  If!" 


THE  SEQUEL.— "IF." 

If  health  be  firm — if  friends  be  true — 
If  self  be  well  controlled, 

If  tastes  be  pure — if  wants  be  few— 
And  not  too  often  told — 

If  reason  always  rule  the  heart— 

If  passion  own  its  sway — 
If  love — for  aye — to  life  impart 

Ine  zest  it  does  to-day — 

If  Providence,  with  parent  care, 

Mete  out  the  varying  lot — 
While  meek  contentment  bows  to  share 

The  palace,  or  the  cot — 

And  oh  !  if  Faith,  sublime  and  clear. 

The  spirit  upwards  guide — 
Then  bless'd  indeed,  and  bless'd  for  ever, 

The  bridegroom  and  the  bride  1 


ELMA'S  MISSION. 

"  EVER,  evermore !"  repeated  a  young  man,  bending 
with  a  smile  over  the  fair  face  that  rested  on  his  breast. 

"Yes!  evermore!"  softly  breathed  the  smiling  lips 
upon  which  he  gazed,  and  evermore  shone  from  the 
melting,  heavenly  eyes. 

"  And  you  believe  all  these  bright  fancies  you  have 
been  telling  me  of,  darling?"  asked  the  young  man. 

"  Ah  !  yes — they  are  truth  to  me ;  they  dwell  in  my 
heart  of  hearts — they  belong  to  the  deepest  and  sweetest 
mysteries  of  my  being.  I  gaze  out  through  the  glory 
upon  life,  and  I  see  no  coldness,  no  darkness — every 
thing  is  coloured  with  bright  radiance  from  the  eternal 
world.  It  is  happiness  that  gives  me  this  beautiful  view. 
I  have  known  that  the  world  was  filled  with  love,  but  I 
have  never  so  clearly  seen  it  before.  And  sure  I  am 
that  if  I  were  to  die  now,  this  same  splendour  of  love 
•would  still  be  poured  through  my  soul ;  for  it  is  myself, 
and  I  cannot  lose  it.  If  you  were  next  week  in  Europe, 
far  from  me,  would  not  your  inner  world  be  illumined 
with  love  and  hope  ?•" 

"  It  certainly  would  !" 

"  And  can  you  doubt  the  durability,  the  truth  and 
reality  of  this  inner-life?  Can  this  clay  instrument  bo 
of  any  moment  farther  than  it  serves  to  develop  life, 
in  this,  our  first  school  ? — we  should  not  confound  the 
earthly  dwelling  with  the  free  man  who  makes  it  his 
temporary  home.  AM  Horace,  I  feel,  I  am  sure,  you 


112  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

will  some  day  enjoy  all  these  ennobling  thoughts  with 
me,  and  then  existence  will  also  be  to  you  sublime." 

An  expression  of  radiant  hope  flitted  over  the  young 
man's  face,  and  he  kissed  the  soft  lips  and  eyes  of  his 
betrothed,  while  he  murmured,  "  I  would  suffer  the  loss 
of  all  happiness  pn  earth,  I  would  bear  every  stroke  the 
Almighty  might  inflict,  if  I  could  believe  as  you  do,  of 
a  life  beyond  this.  I  am  no  unbeliever,  you  know.  I 
read  my  Bible  daily,  but  beyond  this  world  everything 
to  me  is  misty  and  dark.  I  shudder  at  the  ghastliness 
of  the  grave,  and  would  forget  that  I  cannot  always 
clasp  your  warm  heart  to  my  own.  You  were  surely 
sent  to  be  my  good  angel,  to  teach  me  all  that  is  gentlest 
and  best  in  my  nature,  and  this  holy  love  must  last  ever 
more.  I  have  always  smiled  at  the  idea  of  love,  at  first 
sight,  but  when  I  first  saw  your  face,  Elma,  none  ever 
was  so  welcome  ;  yet  if  you  had  not  proved  all  that  your 
face  and  manner  promised,  I  should  not  have  fallen  in 
love.  I  half-believe  matches  are  made  in  Heaven — ours 
will  be  Heaven-made,  if  any  are.  You  think  human 
beings  are  made  for  each  other,  as  the  saying  is,  do  you 
not?" 

"Yes!"  returned  Elma,  smiling,  "I  hope  we  arc 
made  to  be  partners  in  this  world,  and  a  better  one,  but 
how  can  I  know  it  ?  When  my  happy  womanhood  first 
dawned,  I  had  wild,  sweet  dreams  that  here  on  earth  I 
and  many  others  would  surely  meet  the  true  half  that 
belonged  to  us — one  with  whom  every  thought  would 
rind  a  response.  I  have  met  many  whose  views  are  like 
mine,  and  yet  whose  natures  are  so  different  that  we 
could  not  see  each  other's  souls;  perhaps  if  they  had 


ELMA'S    MISSION.  113 

loved  me,  I  could  have  seen  more  clearly — but  my  rebel 
lious  heart  went  forth  to  meet  you,  although  I  tried  so 
long  to  turn  away — although  I  trembled  to  think  the 
religion  of  our  natures  was  so  unlike." 

"  I  once  thought,  love,  that  I  should  never  win  you — 
it  was  your  pale  lips  and  the  mournful  intensity  of  your 
look,  when  we  met  after  a  long  absence,  that  gave  me 
new  hope  ;  and  I  have  often  wondered,  Elma,  why  you 
gave  so  unhesitating  an  assent,  when  you  had  for  months 
at  a  time  avoided  me  at  every  opportunity." 

"  It  was  because  my  views  had  changed  in  a  manner 
— although  still  believing  in  the  fitness  of  two  out  of  the 
whole  universe  for  each  other,  I  began  to  think  that  on 
earth  these  very  two  might  each  have  a  mission  to 
others,  and  others  to  them,  which  would  more  fully  call 
out  their  characters,  and  perhaps  develop  the  dark 
traits  necessary  to  be  conquered — so  that  perfect  har 
mony  might  be  evolved  from  chaos.  It  once  seemed 
to  Hie,  with  the  views  I  held,  that  it  would  be  a  sin  for 
me  to  unite  my  destiny  with  one  who  did  not  sympathize 
with  me  on  all  points.  But  the  sad  fate  of  Augusta 
Atwood  made  me  reflect  deeply.  She  was  my  bosom 
friend,  and  never  did  mortal  go  to  the  altar  with  brighter 
hopes — never  did  human  being  love  more  unreservedly. 
She  whispered  to  me  as  I  arranged  her  hair,  on  the 
morning  of  her  bridal : — '  This  seems  to  me  like  the 
beginning  of  my  heavenly  life — there  is  not  a  height  or 
depth  cf  my  soul  that  Charles's  nature  does  not  respond 
to — I  know  that  we'  two  are  truly  one."  And  so  it 
Beemed  for  two  happy  years — his  character  took  every 
one  by  surprise,  perhaps  himself,  and  now  Augusta  is  a. 
8 


114  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

miserably  neglected  wife,  toiling  on  like  an  angel  to 
reap  good  from  her  desolated  earth-life.  Yet  wo  see 
that  her  mighty  love  was  not  a  true  interpreter.  No 
doubt  her  lover  was  sincere  at  the  time  in  believing  that 
they  not  only  felt,  but  thought  alike.  I  have  known 
many  instances,  very  many,  where  two,  perhaps  equally 
good  and  true,  have  thought  themselves  fitted  for  each 
other  and  none  else ;  yet  on  the  death  of  one,  they  have 
found  a  companion  who  was  still  more  especially  made 
for  them.  Thus  we  see  that  this  is  a  matter  where 
there  appears  to  be  little  certainty  and  many  mistakes. 
Doubtless,  there  are  some  few  blessed  ones  who  truly 
find  their  better-half;  but  in  this  sinful,  imperfect  state 
of  life,  we  cannot  believe  that  we  are  in  an  order  suffi 
ciently  harmonious  to  have  this  a  sure  thing.  Perhaps 
one-third  of  the  women  in  the  world  never  even  loved 
half  as  well  as  they  felt  themselves  capable  of  loving, 
simply  because  no  object  "presented  himself  who  could 
call  forth  all  the  music  of  a  high  and  noble  nature. 

"  So  many  a  soul  o'er  life's  drear  desert  faring, 

Love's  pure  congenial  spring  unfound,  unquaffed, 
Suffers,  recoils,  then  thirsty  and  despairing 
Of  what  it  would,  descends  and  sips  the  nearest  draught." 

"But,  Elma,  my  child,  it  is  not  pleasant  to  me 
that  you  should  have  a  single  doubt  that  we  are  not 
dearer  to  each  other  than  any  other  mortals  could 
ever  be  in  this  world,  or  the  beautiful  one  you  love  to 
Iream  of." 

"  I  am  telling  you,  Horace,  the  thoughts  that  hav« 
been  in  my  mind — I  only  feel  now  thet  you  are  good 


ELMA'S  MISSION.  115 

and  gifted,  and  I  love  you  more  than  I  ever  dreamed  of 
loving." 

"  And  you,  sweet,  are  the  breath  of  my  life.  It  is 
heavenly  to  know  that  God  has  given  you,  and  you 
alone,  to  be  the  angel  ministrant  of  my  oft  tempestuous 
life:  you  have  risen  like  a  star  over  my  cloudy  horizon 
— may  the  light  of  the  gentle  star  shine  on  my  rath, 
until  it  leads  me  unto  the  perfect  day !" 

"  Only  the  light  of  the  Sun  of  Righteousness  can  do 
that,"  returned  Elma;  then,  with  a  tear  glistening  on 
her  lash,  she  added,  "  I  hope  God  will  help  me  to  be 
good  and  pure,  that  I  may  be  a  medium  of  good,  and 
not  evil  to  you." 

Most  blessedly  passed  the  days  to  that  hopeful  maiden ; 
it  was  a  treasure  full  of  all  promise  to  have,  not  only  the 
happiness  of  her  lover,  but  as  she  trusted,  his  best  good 
committed  to  her  charge,  next  to  God.  When  she  knelt 
in  the  morning  hour,  her  prayer  was  ever  a  thanksgiving 
— she  lifted  up  the  gates  of  her  soul  that  the  King  of 
Glory  might  come  in,  and  His  radiant  presence  per 
meated  her  whole  being — she  left  to  Him  the  control  of 
her  life,  all  the  strange  mysteries  of  heavenly  policy, 
which  she  felt  and  knew  would  ultimate  in  perfecting 
her  too  worldly  nature ;  and  she  went  forth,  angel- 
attended,  to  her  duties,  fusing  into  them  this  effluent 
life  that  dwelt  so  richly  within  her.  Every  word  of 
kindness  and  love  that  dropped  from  her  soft,  coral  lips, 
bore  with  it  a  portion  of  the  smiling  life  that  overflowed 
her  spirit.  When  she  arose,  her  constant  thought  was, 
"  Another  day  is  coming,  in  which  the  work  of  progress 
may  go  on :  I  may  perhaps  this  day  conquer  some  evil, 


116  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

or  do  some  humble  good,  that  will  fit  me  to  be  a  still 
better  angel  to  Horace,  and  -which  shall  beautify  my 
mansion  in  the  Heavens." 

At  length  the  bridal  day  came,  and  fled  also  like 
other  days,  save  that  a  sweeter  brightness  enwrapped 
the  soul  of  Elma ;  so  six  months  or  more  flitted  away  in 
delicious  dream-life,  for  outward  things  made  a  compara 
tively  slight  impression ;  Elma  lived  and  loved  more 
than  she  thought.  But  one  morning  reflection  and  pain 
came  together ;  the  latter  led  in  the  former,  a  long-for 
gotten  friend,  and  the  young  wife  asked  herself  how  far 
she  had  travelled  onward  and  upward  since  the  bridal 
days,  since  her  path  had  been  all  sunshine ; — she  bowed 
her  head  and  wept  bitterly.  "Not  for  me,  at  least," 
she  sighed,  "  is  constant  happiness  a  friend, — not  yet 
am  I  fitted  to  enjoy  the  highest  harmony  of  life. 
*  Therefore,  burn,  thou  holy  pain,  thou  purifying  fire  !' 
It  is  meet  I  should  be  wounded  where  my  deepest  joys 
are  lodged.  I  see  that  it  is  the  lash  of  pain  which  must 
drive  me  through  the  golden  gates.  Yes !  I  will  arise, 
and  thank  my  Father  that  He  has  not  been  as  unmind 
ful  of  my  eternal  well-being  as  I  would  be  myself,  if  left 
to  wander  only  among  flowers  of  love  and  gladness." 

And  what  was  this  grief  that  awoke  the  bride  from 
her  blissful  dream  ?  It  would  seem  the  merest  nothing 
to  the  strong  man  of  the  world,  to  the  gay  woman  who 
glides  superficially  through  existence.  But  many  a 
young  bride  will  understand  how  it  might  be  more  sor 
rowful  than  the  loss  of  houses  and  lands.  It  was  the 
husband's  first  frown,  his  first  petulant  word :  it  was  the 
key  that  opened  Elma's  understanding  to  the  true  state 


ELMA'S  MISSION.  117 

of  the  past.  She  could  no  longer  blind  her  eyes,  as  she 
had  done,  to  a  certain  worldlincss  in  her  husband,  and 
which  had  also  reached  her  through  him.  This  morn 
ing,  that  revealed  so  much,  Horace  had  impatiently  ex 
claimed  as  Elma  held  forth  her  Bible  to  him,  as  usual. — 

"  I  have  not  time  for  that  now,  child  !"  and  hastily 
kissing  her,  he  put  on  his  hat,  and  went  forth  to  his 
business. 

A  pale  anguish  settled  on  Elma's  face  as  she  sunk 
upon  a  chair. 

"Is  this  the  beginning  of  sorrows?"  she  murmured; 
"  he  never  spoke  to  me  so  before,  perhaps  he  will  often 
do  so  again.  If  it  had  been  about  anything  else,  I  think 
I  could  have  borne  it  better  !  Oh  God !  is  the  angel 
leaving  our  Paradise  ?" 

And  she  thought  over  and  over  again  of  this  worldli- 
ness  in  her  husband,  and  his  want  of  the  high  standard 
in  religion  that  was  so  dear  to  her ;  she  felt  that  she 
wasj  in  a  measure,  deceived  in  him — surely  once  ho 
seemed  to  dwell  in  an  atmosphere  that  was  more 
spiritual.  Yes  !  Elma  was  deceived  in  him,  but  Horace 
had  not  deceived  her.  In  the  happy  glow  of  his  suc 
cessful  love,  he  had  caught  the  warmth  of  Elrna'a 
thoughts ;  they  had  charmed  his  imagination,  in  a  mea 
sure  commended*  themselves  to  his  understanding,  and 
made  a  temporary  impression  upon  his  heart,  so  that  he 
went  out  among  men  with  a  more  benevolent  spirit  than 
he  had  ever  done  before.  But  truth,  to  be  abiding, 
must  be  sought  after  with  an  eager  thirst ;  and  it  came 
to  Horace  crowned  Avith  flowers ;  he  condescended  to 
tale  the  charmer  in,  and  obeyed  her  for  awhile,  then 


IIS  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

she  was  forgotten,  he  thought  not  why,  and  he  imper 
ceptibly  returned  to  the  real  self,  which  Elma  had  never 
before  had  an  opportunity  to  become  acquainted  with. 

Three  years  went  by.  Horace  was  a  devoted  husband, 
no  being  on  earth  was  to  him  so  perfect  as  his  wife — nc 
human  being  had  ever  exerted  over  him  the  quiet,  hoty 
influence  that  belonged  to  Elma.  She  had  gradually 
accomplished  infinitely  more  than  she  suspected,  yet 
many  a  time,  and  oft,  had  he  caused  her  grieved  tears 
to  fall  like  rain.  Many  a  time  had  despairing  prayers 
risen  from  her  soul  for  him,  while  she  breathed  out  tO 
her  God  a  cry  for  strength.  She  felt  that  she  taw 
through  a  glass  darkly ;  but  she  sought  with  most 
earnest  heart  for  every  duty,  knowing  that  thus  her 
pathway  would  lead  continually  to  a  more  sure  and 
Bteady  light. 

Elma  often  wondered  that  so  much  joy  was  given  to 
her  earthly  life ;  butishe  understood  the  true  philosophy, 
for  her  every  grief  was  regarded  as  a  special  messenger 
from  the  spirit-land,  and  amid  her  tears  she  looked  up, 
and  resolutely  answered  to  the  call,  "Excelsior  !"  She 
was  ever  receiving  with  gratitude  the  blessings  that 
clustered  about  her  lot,  and,  as  it  were,  transmuting  all 
common  things  into  pleasures,  by  seeking  out  a  bright 
ness  in  them. 

But  a  heavier  trial  was  in  store  for  the  wife  than  she 
had  anticipated.  Horace  had  been  very  unfortunate  in 
business ;  he  bore  it  with  more  gentleness  than  Elma 
had  expected,  but  it  wore  upon  his  spirits;  day  after 
day  he  was  busied  in  settling  up,  and  came  home  with 


ELMA'S  MISSION.  119 

a  look  of  sadness  and  anxiety.  One  evening  he  came 
in  with  a  brighter  look. 

"What  is  the  news?"  asked  his  wife,  as  she  read  his 
face. 

"  I  have  an  offer  of  a  clerkship,  at  a  very  good  salary, 
eighteen  hundred  dollars  a  year !" 

"  We  can  get  along  admirably  with  that !"  said  Elma, 
with  a  bright  smile.  "  You  know  we  are  retrenching 
our  expenses  so  much,  that  we  can  live  on  half  that,  and 
the  rest  can  go  towards  your  debts.  In  a  few  years  you 
will  be  able  to  pay  all  you  owe,  will  you  not?" 

"  Perhaps  so,  by  exerting  every  faculty,  and  living  on 
less  than  you  propose  !" 

"  Oh  !  well,  we  can !"  was  the  eager  response.  "  I'll 
manage  to  get  along  on  almost  nothing ;  as  small  a  sum 
as  you  choose  to  name.  Every  trifling  deprivation  will 
be  an  actual  delight,  that  helps  to  discharge  those  debts. 
It  will,  indeed!"  she  added,  as  Horace  smiled  at  her 
enthusiasm. 

"  I  believe  you,  little  one,  every  word  you  say !"  and, 
with  an  air  of  cheerful  affection,  such  as  he  had  not 
shown  for  weeks,  the  husband  drew  his  wife's  head  upon 
his  breast,  and,  forgetful  of  cold  business  cares  and  the 
world,  they  were  gay,  tender,  and  happy. 

It  was  with  a  different  look  that  Horace  entered  his 
home  the  next  evening ;  a  shadow  fell  on  Elma's  heart 
when  she  saw  him,  and  the  evening  meal  passed  in 
silence. 

"What  are  you  thinking  of,  TTorace?"she  timidly 
asked,  some  time  after,  approaching  him  as  he  stood  by 


120  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

the  window,  gazing  out  gloomily  into  the  star-ligntej 
street. 

"  I  have  received  a  better  offer,  and  have  determined 
to  accept  it."  It  must  be  known  that  Horace  came 
quickly  to  a  decision,  and  then  persevered  in  it ;  none 
knew  the  vanity  of  striving  to  change  him,  when  fairly 
resolved,  better  than  Elma ;  but  in  small  matters  he  was 
yielding  as  Elma  herself.  She  stood  in  a  fearful  silence, 
looking  into  his  face,  which  he  had  turned  towards  her. 

"  I  am  going  to  California  !"  he  said,  almost  sternly, 
for  he  feared  Elma's  tenderness  might  unman  him. 

"Not  without  me?"  she  asked,  with  pleading  eyes. 

"  Yes !  Elma,  I  cannot  take  you,  for  1  shall  be  con 
stantly  travelling,  and  subject  to  the  greatest  hardships 
— you  could  not  bear  it !  I  shall  be  back  in  a  year  and 
a  half." 

"  I  could  bear  anything  better  than  to  be  left  behind 
— you  do  not  know  as  well  as  I  what  would  be  the 
greatest  hardship  for  me.  Ah  !  Horace,  do  not  put  me 
to  this  dreadful  trial.  Let  me  go  with  you,  and  you  will 
find  that  I  will  not  utter  a  complaint.  You  can  leave 
me  at  some  place,  while  you  travel  over  the  roughest 
country  -you  may  be  sick,  and  need  me.  I  fear  men 
grow  hard  and  selfish  there,  and  what  you  gain  in  purse, 
you  may  lose  in  what  is  dearest  to  me.  '  It  is  not  good 
for  man  to  be  alone.'  " 

"Hush,  darling;  every  word  is  vain!"  answered 
Horace,  clasping  her  to  his  breast,  and  kissing  her  with 
passionate  vehemence.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
wept  without  any  restraint  over  her.  "  Do  you  think 
anything  hut  duty  would  tear  me  from  you  ?  It  is  my 


ELMA'S  MISSION.  121 

Huty  to  be  just  to  all  men,  and  to  pay  what  I  owe  as 
soon  as  I  can." 

"  But  take  me  !"  sobbed  Elma. 

"  Dear  child  !  you  must  be  reasonable.  I  know  that 
you  fear  the  influence  about  me  will  not  be  as  angelically 
pure  as  your  own,  and  I  love  you  for  that  fear.  I  shall 
go  where  no  man  will  care  for  my  soul  as  you  do ;  but 
I  shall  not  forget  you,  Elma.  Now,  cheer  up,  and  show 
me  the  ready  resolution  you  have  always  had  at  hand." 

"  I  never  had  such  a  cruel  blow  as  this  before !' 
returned  Elma,  in  an  entire  abandonment  of  grief. 
"  Oh !  take  me  with  you,  Horace,  and  nothing  in  the 
world  will  be  hard  for  me." 

The  wife's  pleadings  were  vain,  and  in  a  week  shfc 
parted  from  her  husband.  After  he  had  gone,  she  won 
back  a  spirit  of  resignation  ;  indeed,  as  soon  as  she  found 
her  doom  Avas  sealed,  she  gathered  up  her  strength,  and 
strove  to  cheer  Horace,  whose  spirits  sunk  miserably 
when  he  had  no  longer  to  support  Elma.  She  laid  out 
a  plan  for  her  life  during  her  widowhood,  as  she  called 
it,  and  this  plan  was  after  the  example  of  One  who  went 
about  doing  good.  The  weary  time  passed  slowly,  but 
each  day  added  a  little  gem  to  Elma's  heavenly  life,  and 
when,  at  length,  she  received  her  husband's  last  letter 
before  his  return,  her  thanks  gushed  forth  in  gladness, 
as  they  had  so  often  before  done,  in  holy  confidence. 
Part  of  his  letter  ran  thus  : — 

"  And  now,  dear  love,  having  told  you  of  the  outward 
success  which  hap  met  my  efforts,  let  me  tell  you  a  little 
of  the  heart  that  belongs  to  you — which  you  have  woo 


122  ELMA'S  MISSION. 

from  darkness  to  light.  It  is  filled  with  images  of  hope 
and  love,  and  a  light  from  your  spirit  shines  "through  all 
— you  have  been  ever  with  me,  ever  leading  me  to  that 
'  true  light  which  lighteth  every  man  that  cometh  into 
the  world.'  I  often  gave  you  pain,  my  darling,  when 
we  were  together;  it  was  unintentional,  and  sprang  from 
the  evil  of  my  nature ;  and  a  thousand  times,  when  you 
did  not  suspect  it,  your  gentle  look  and  touch  brought 
to  my  spirit  better  thoughts,  and  the  thoughts  brought 
better  words  and  deeds.  You  have  been  the  angel  of 
my  life  still  more  during  our  separation  ;  for  my  soul 
has  yearned  for  your  dear  presence  constantly,  and 
every  day  I  have  said  to  myself,  '  Would  this  please 
Ehna  ?'  ind  when  I  have  been  enabled  to  do  a  kindness, 
my  heart  glowed  at  the  thought  of  Elma's  approval. 
Your  blessed  spirit  never  seems  so  near  to  me  as  when 
I  lift  up  my  soul  in  prayer.  I  sometimes  fancy  your 
prayers,  beloved,  have  unlocked  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven, 
for  me.  Good  bye,  dearest  life,  we  shall  soon  meet. 

IIORACE." 

And  when  they  met,  the  joy  of  their  first  wedding 
days  seemed  doubled.  Elma  rejoiced  at  the  discipline 
she  had  been  through,  for  it  had  better  fitted  her  for  the 
joyful  existence  that  was  before  her.  It  had  now  become 
more  of  a  habit  for  her  soul  to  dwell  in  a  heavenly 
atmosphere — she  had  learned  to  rely  steadfastly  upon 
her  God  for  the  good  gifts  of  her  life,  and  they  were 
showered  upon  her  abundantly ;  doubly  beautifu],  they 
were  shared  by  a  heart  in  unison. 


LIVING  LIKE  A  LADY. 

MR.  HAMILTON  BURGESS  was  a  man  of  limited  mean*, 
but  having  married  a  beautiful  and  amiable  woman,  ha 
resolved  to  spare  no  expense  in  surrounding  her  with 
comforts,  and  in  supporting  her,  as  he  said,  "like  a 
lady." 

"  My  dear  Ammy,"  said  Mrs.  Burgess,  to  her  indul 
gent  husband,  about  a  year  after  their  marriage — "  My 
dear  Ammy" — this  was  the  name  she  called  him  by  at 
home — "  you  are  too  kind  to  me,  altogether.  You  are 
unwilling  that  I  should  work,  or  do  anything  towards 
our  support,  when  I  actually  think  that  a  little  exertion 
on  my  part  would  not  only  serve  to  lighten  your  ex 
penses,  but  be  quite  as  good  for  my  health  and  spirits 
as  the  occupations  to  which  my  time  is  now  devoted." 

"  Oh,  you  industrious  little  bee  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Bur 
gess,  "  you  have  great  notions  of  making  yourself  use 
ful,  I  declare  !  But,  Lizzie,  I  shall  never  consent  to  your 
propositions.  I  did  not  marry  you  to  make  you  my  slave. 
When  you  gave  me  this  dear  hand,  I  resolved  that  it 
should  never  be  soiled  and  made  rough  by  labour — and 
it  never  shall,  as  long  as  I  am  able  to  attend  to  my  busi 
ness." 

Mrs.  Burgess  would  not  have  done  anything  to  dis 
please  her  husband  for  the  world,  and  she  accordingly 
allowed  him  to  have  his  way  without  offering  farther 
remonstrance. 

But  Hamilton's  business  was  dull,  and  it  required  the 


1"!  LIVING   LIKE   A   LADY. 

greatest  exertion  on  his  part,  and  the  severest  applica 
tion,  to  raise  sufficient  money  to  meet  the  daily  expenses 
of  his  family. 

"  My  affairs  will  be  in  a  better  state  next  year,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "  and  I  must  manage  to  struggle  through 
this  dull  season-some  way  or  another.  I  will  venture  to 
run  in  debt  a  little,  I  think ;  for  any  way  is  preferable 
to  reducing  our  household  expenditures,  which  are  by  no 
means  extravagant.  At  all  events,  Lizzie  must  not  know 
what  my  circumstances  are,  for  she  would  insist  upon  a 
change  in  our  style  of  living,  and  revive  the  subject  of 
doing  something  towards  our  support." 

Mr.  Burgess  then  ventured  to  run  in  debt  a  little ;  he 
did  not  attempt  to  reduce  the  expenses  of  his  house 
keeping  ;  he  never  gave  his  wife  a  hint  respecting  the 
true  state  of  his  business  matters,  but  insisted  upon  her 
accepting,  as  usual,  a  liberal  allowance  of  funds  to  meet 
her  private  expenses. 

Lizzie  seemed  quite  happy  in  her  ignorance  of  her 
husband's  circumstances,  never  spoke  again  of  assisting 
to  support  the  establishment,  but  seemed  to  devote  her 
self  to  the  pursuit  of  quiet  pleasures,  and  to  procuring 
Hamilton's  happiness.  But  Mr.  Burgess's  circumstances, 
instead  of  improving,  grew  continually  worse.  His  ven 
ture  of  "running  in  debt  a  little,"  resulted  in  running 
in  debt  a  great  deal.  Thus  the  second  year  of  his  mar 
ried  life  passed,  and  the  dark  shadows  of  disappointed 
hope  and  the  traces  of  corroding  care  began  to  change 
the  aspect  of  his  brow. 

One  day  a  friend  said  to  Hamilton — 

"  I  am  surprised  at  your  conduct !     Here  you  are, 


LIVING   LIKE   A   LADY.  125 

making  a  slave  of  yourself,  while  your  wife  is  playing 
the  lady.  She  is  not  to  blame ;  it  is  you.  She  would 
gladly  do  something  for  her  own  support,  if  you  would 
permit  her ;  and  it  would  be  better  for  her  and  for  you. 
Remember  the  true  saying — 

'  Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 
For  idle  hands  to  do  !'  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  demanded  Hamilton,  red 
dening. 

"  I  mean  that,  generally  speaking,  young  wives  of  an 
ardent  temperament,  when  left  to  themselves,  with  no 
thing  but  their  pleasures  to  occupy  their  minds,  are  apt 
to  forget  their  husbands,  and  find  enjoyment  in  such 
society  as  he  might  not  altogether  approve." 

"  Sir,  you  do  not  know  my  wife,"  exclaimed  Hamil 
ton.  "  She,  thank  Heaven,  is  not  one  of  those." 

"  I  hope  not,"  was  the  quiet  reply. 

Although  Hamilton  Burgess  had  not  a  jealous  nature, 
and  would  never  have  entertained  unjust  suspicions  of 
his  wife,  these  words  of  his  friend  set  him  to  thinking. 
He  remembered  that  Lizzie  was  always  happy,  however 
he  might  be  oppressed  with  cares ;  and  now  he  wondered 
how  it  was  that  she  could  be  so  unmindful  of  everything 
except  pleasure,  while  he  was  so  constantly  harassed. 
The  consistent  Mr.  Hamilton  Burgess  undoubtedly  for 
got  that  he  had  taken  the  utmost  pains  to  conceal  his 
circumstances  from  his  wife. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  mind  that  Mr  Burgess  one  day 
left  his  business,  and  went  home  unexpectedly.  It  waa 


126  LIVING  LIKE   A   LADY. 

at  an  hour  when  Lizzie  least  thought  of  seeing  him,  and 
on  this  occasion  she  appeared  considerably  embarrassed  ; 
nor  did  Mr.  Burgess  fail  to  observe  that  she  was  very 
tardy  in  making  her  appearance  in  the  sitting-room. 

On  another  occasion,  Mr.  Burgess  returned  homo 
under  similar  circumstances,  and  going  directly  to  his 
wife's  room,  found,  to  his  astonishment,  that  he  could 
not  gain  admittance.  After  some  delay,  however,  during 
which  Hamilton  heard  footsteps  hurrying  to  and  fro 
within,  and  whispering,  Mrs.  Burgess  opened  the  door, 
and,  blushing  very  red,  attempted  to  apologize  for  not 
admitting  him  before. 

"Who  was  with  you?"  demanded  Hamilton. 

"With  me?"  cried  Lizzie,  much  confused. 

"Yes,  madam.     L  heard  whispering,  and  I  am  sure, 
somebody  just  passed  through  that  side  door." 

"  Oh,  that  was  nobody  but  Margaret !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Burgess,  hastily. 

Hamilton  could  ill  conceal  his  vexation ;  but  he  did 
not  intimate  to  his  wife  that  he  suspected  her  of  equivo 
cation,  nor  did  she  see  fit  to  attempt  a  full  exposition  of 
the  matter. 

Nothing  was  said  of  this  incident  afterwards  ;  but  for 
many  weeks  it  occupied  Hamilton's  mind.  All  this  time 
he  was  harassed  with  cares  of  business,  and  his  brow 
became  more  darkly  shrouded  in  gloom  as  his  perplexi 
ties  thickened.  At  last  the  crisis  came  !  Mr.  Burgess 
saw  the  utter  impossibility  of  longer  continuing  his  al 
most  profitless  trade,  under  heavy  expenses,  which  not 
only  absorbed  his  small  capital,  but  actually  plunged 
him  into  debt.  But  one  honest  course  was  left  for  him 


LIVING   LiKE   A   LADY.  127 

to  pursue  ;  and  he  resolved  to  close  up  his  affairs,  and 
sell  off  what  stock  he  had  to  pay  his  debts. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Mr.  Birgess  saw  in  its  true 
light  the  error  of  which  he  had  been  guilty,  in  opposing 
his  wife's  desire  to  economize,  and  devote  a  portion  of 
her  time  to  useful  occupation. 

"  Had  I  allowed  her  to  lighten  our  expenses  in  this 
way,"  thought  he,  "  I  might  not  have  been  driven  to 
such  extremities.  And  what  has  been  the  result  of  my 
folly  ?  Why,  I  have  kept  her  ignorant  of  our  poverty 
until  the  very  last,  and  now  the  sudden  intelligence  that 
we  are  beggars,  will  well  nigh  kill  her !" 

Satisfied  of  the  danger,  if  not  the  impossibility,  of 
keeping  the  secret  longer  from  his  wife,  Mr.  Burgess 
went  home  one  day,  resolved  to  break  the  intelligence  to 
her  without  hesitation.  Entering  the  house  with  his 
latch-key,  he  went  directly  to  Lizzie's  room,  which  he 
entered  unceremoniously.  To  his  surprise,  he  found  on 
the  table  a  gentleman's  cap,  of  that  peculiar  fashion 
which  he  had  seen  worn  by  postmen  and  dandies  about 
town.  Anxious  for  an  explanation,  he  looked  around  for 
his  wife  ;  but  Lizzie  was  not  in  the  room.  Then  hearing 
voices  in  another  part  of  the  house,  he  left  the  room  by 
a  different  door  from  that  by  which  he  had  entered,  and 
hastened  to  the  parlour,  where  he  expected  to  find  Mrs. 
Burgess  in  company  with  the  owner  of  that  cap.  To  his 
surprise,  he  found  the  parlour  vacant,  and  meeting  Mar 
garet  in  the  hall  a  moment  after,  he  impatiently  demanded 
hU  wife. 

"  She  is  in  the  room,  sir,"  said  the  domestic. 

Without  saying  a  word,  Hamilton  again  hastened  IP 


128  LIVING   LIKE   A   LADY. 

Lizzie's  room,  where  he  found  her  reading  a  late  maga 
zine  with  affected  indifference  ! 

"  Madam,"  cried  he,  angrily,  "  what  does  this  mean  ? 
Here  I  have  been  chasing  you  all  over  the  house,  without 
being  able  to  catch  you.  What  company  have  you  just 
dismissed  ?" 

"  What  company  ?"  asked  Lizzie. 

"Yes,  madam,  what  company?" 

"  Do  not  speak  so  angrily,  dear  Ammy.  Why  are 
you  so  impatient  ?" 

"  Because  I  wish  to  know  what  gentleman  has  been 
favouring  you  with  such  a  confidential  visit !" 

Hamilton  remembered  other  occasions  when,  on  his 
coming  home  unexpectedly,  his  wife  had  shown  signs  of 
embarrassment ;  and,  added  to  this,  her  present  equivo 
cation  rendered  him  violently  jealous.  She  appeared  to 
shrink  from  him  in  fear,  and  became  alternately  red  and 
pale,  as  she  answered — 

"  There  has  been  no  gentleman  here  to  see  me  !" 

"No  one?" 

"  No  one,  dear  Ammy  !" 

Mr.  Burgess  was  on  the  point  of  demanding  to  know 
who  was  the  owner  of  the  cap  which  he  had  seen  on  his 
wife's  table,  and  which  had  now  mysteriously  disap 
peared  ;  but  emotion  checked  him,  and  he  paced  the  floor 
in  silence. 

"  This  is  too  much  !"  he  muttered,  at  length,  in  the 
bitterness  of  his  heart.  "  I  could  endure  poverty,  with 
out  uttering  a  complaint  for  myself;  I  could  endure  any 
thing  but  this !" 


LIVING   LIKE   A   LADY.  129 

"  Why,  Ammy,  what  is  the  matter?"  cried  Mrs.  Bur 
gess,  in  alarm. 

"Nothing — only  we  are  beggars!"  answered  Hamil 
ton,  abruptly. 

"  Have  you  been  unfortunate  ?"  calmly  asked  his  wife, 
affectionately  taking  him  by  the  arm. 

"  Yes — the  most  unfortunate  of  men  !  I  am  ruined — 
we  are  beggars — but" — 

"  Dear  Ammy,  you  must  not  let  this  cast  you  down. 
Business  failures  frequently  happen,  but  they  ought  never 
to  destroy  domestic  happiness.  Come,  how  bad  off  arc 
we  ?  Are  we  really  beggars  ?" 

"My  creditors  will  take  everything,"  answered  Ha 
milton,  gloomily. 

"  They  will  not  take  us  from  each  other,"  said  Lizzie. 

Mr.  Burgess  looked  at  his  young  wife  with  a  bitter 
smile. 

"  Are  you  such  a  deceiver  ?"  he  muttered  through  his 
teeth.  "  Can  you  talk  thus  when  you  have  just  dismissed 
a  lover  ?" 

"  Sir !"  cried  Mrs.  Burgess,  a  glow  of  indignation 
lighting  her  fair  face.  "  What  do  you  mean?" 

"Don't  deny  what  I  say!"  replied  Hamilton.  "You 
were  having  an  interview  with  a  gentleman  when  I  came 
iu." 

Lizzie  trembled  with  indignation. 

"  I  saw  his  cap  on  the  table  !" 

Lizzie  laughed  outright.  "Come  here,"  she  said, 
.lading  her  husband  away. 

Hamilton  followed  her,  and  she  went  to  a  bureau,  un- 
9 


130  LIVING   LIKE   A   LADY. 

locked  a  deep  drawer,  and  opening  it,  called  her  hus 
band's  attention  to  its  contents. 

It  was  half  full  of  caps  ! 

Hamilton  looked  at  Lizzie  in  perplexity.  Lizzie  looked 
at  Hamilton,  and  smiled. 

"I  suppose  that  you  will  now  declare  that  there  are 
twenty  gentlemen  in  the  house,"  said  Mrs.  Burgess. 

"  Lizzie !"  cried  her  husband,  clasping  her  hands,  "  1 
am  already  ashamed  of  my  suspicions.  I  ask  your  for 
giveness.  But  explain  this  matter  to  me.  I  am  dying 
in  perplexity." 

"Well,"  replied  Lizzie,  archly,  "/made  those  caps." 

"You!" 

"  Certainly ;  that  is,  I  and  Margaret.  I  kept  my 
work  a  secret  from  you,  because  you  were  opposed  to  my 
exerting  myself,  and  although  you  have  come  near  sur 
prising  me  more  than  once,  I  have  carried  on  my  trea 
sonable  designs  pretty  successfully  until  to-day." 

"But,  dear  Lizzie,  how  could  you  ?" 

"  I  can  answer  that  question.  I  saw  pretty  clearly 
into  your  business  affairs,  and  knew  that  we  could  not 
live  in  this  style  long.  So  I  thought  I  would  disobey 
you.  My  cousin  George,  the  hat  manufacturer,  seconded 
my  designs,  and  privately  sent  me  caps  to  make,  nearly 
a  jear  ago." 

Hamilton  opened  his  eyes  in  astonishment. 

"  Surprising,  isn't  it  ?  But  this  isn't  all.  You  insisted 
on  my  keeping  Margaret,  when  I  might  just  as  well  have 
done  my  housework  myself;  I  thought  I  would  make  her 
useful,  and  made  her  help  me  work  on  the  caps.  Be 
sides,  you  wore  not  satisfied  if  I  neglected  to  use  all  the 


LIVING   LIKE   A    LADY  131 

spending  money  you  allowed  me,  and  I  pretended  to  use 
that,  just  to  please  you.  Now,  before  you  scold  me  for 
my  disobedience,  witness  the  results  of  my  industry  and 
economy." 

Lizzie  opened  her  desk,  and  displayed  to  Hamilton's 
bewildered  sight,  a  pile  of  gold  which  filled  him  with 
greater  astonishment  than  anything  else. 

"There,"  continued  Lizzie,  without  allowing  him  to 
speak — "there  are  three  hundred  dollars.  Of  course, 
this  little  sum  wouldn't  make  anybody  rich,  but  I  hope 
it  will  convince  you  that  a  wife's  economy  and  industry 
are  not  to  be  despised." 

"  Lizzie  !  dear  Lizzie  !" 

"  Oh,  this  is  nothing — only  a  sample  of  what  I  can  do. 
Come,  now,  acknowledge  your  error,  and  say  that  I  may 
have  my  own  way  in  future." 

Hamilton  replied  by  clasping  his  wife  in  his  arms. 

"  There,  say  nothing  more  about  it,"  she  continued. 
"  Don't  think  of  your  misfortunes,  but  remember  that  we 
can  be  happy  even  if  we  both  have  to  work  hard.  Po 
verty  canjiot  crush  us ;  and  I  hope  I  have  already  con 
vinced  you  that  work  will  not  make  me  lose  attraction  in 
your  sight." 

The  young  husband's  heart  overflowed  with  gratitude 
ttnd  joy. 

"  How  have  I  misunderstood  you,  dear  Lizzie !"  he 
exclaimed.  "  You  are  worth  more  to  me  than  southern 
riches ;  and  now  that  I  know  poverty  cannot  crush  you, 
my  mind  is  at  ease.  Lizzie,  I  am  so  happy  !" 

"  And  I  may  have  my  way  ?" 

"Yes,  always." 


132  LIVING   LIKE   A    LADY. 

"  Remember  this  !"  cried  Mrs.  Burgess,  archly. 

With  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  felt  for  many  months 
before,  Hamilton  went  about  the  settlement  of  his  busi 
ness  affairs,  while  Lizzie  devoted  herself  to  perfecting  a 
'new  system  of  housekeeping. 

When  Mr.  Burgess  came  home  at  night,  he  was  sur 
prised  at  the  wonderful  change  which  had  taken  place 
during  his  absence. 

"  Don't  scold,"  said  his  wife,  regarding  him  with  a 
smile  ;  "you  said  I  might  have  my  way." 

"  True — but  what  have  you  done  ?" 

"  I  have  been  making  arrangements  to  let  half  the 
house  to  Mr.  Smith's  family,  who  will  move  in  next  week. 
They  are  pleasant  people,  and  as  we  had  twice  as  much 
room  as  we  actually  needed,  I  thought  it  best  to  take 
them.  Then  again,  we  shan't  need  so  much  furniture, 
and  if  you  like,  you  can  sell  Mr.  Smith  some  of  what  we 
have,  at  a  fair  price." 

Mr.  Burgess  neither  frowned  nor  looked  displeased, 
nor  did  he  ever  afterwards  oppose  his  wife's  designs.  He 
soon  found  his  expenses  so  reduced,  that,  with  the  fruits 
of  his  wife's  industry  added  to  his  own,  they  were  able 
to  live  quite  comfortably  and  happily  ;  and,  although  he 
soon  became  engaged  in  more  profitable  business,  he 
never  again  urged  her  to  indulge  in  the  folly  of  "  living 
like  a  lady." 


LADF  LUCY'S   SECRET. 

MR.  FEJIRARS,  ^ho  sat  reading  the  morning  paper, 
suddenly  started  with  an  exclamation  of  grief  and 
astonishment  that  completely  roused  his  absent-minded 
wife. 

"My  dear  Walter,  what  has  happened?"  she  asked, 
with  real  anxiety. 

"  A  man  a  bankrupt,  whom  I  thought  as  safe  as  the 
Bank  of  England !  Though  it  is  true,  people  talked 
about  him  months  ago — spoke  suspiciously  of  his  per 
sonal  extravagance,  and.  above  all,  said  that  his  wife 
was  ruining  him." 

"His  wife!" 

"Yes;  but  I  cannot  understand  that  sort  of  thing. 
A  few  hundreds  a  year  more  or  less  could  be  of  little 
moment  to  a  man  like  Beaufort,  and  I  don't  suppose  she 
spent  more  than  you  do,  my  darling.  At  any  rate  she 
was  never  better  dressed.  Yet  I  believe  the  truth  was, 
that  she  got  frightfully  into  debt  unknown  to  him  ;  and 
debt  is  a  sort  of  thing  that  multiplies  itself  in'  a  most 
astonishing  manner,  and  sows  by  the  wayside  the  seeds 
of  all  sorts  of  misery.  Then  people  say  that  when  pay 
day  came  at  last,  bickerings  ensued,  their  domestic 
happiness  was  broken  up,  Beaufort  grew  reckless,  and 
plunged  into  the  excitement  of  the  maddest  specula 
tions." 

"How  dreadful!"  murmured  Lady  Lucy. 


134  LADY   LUCY'S   SECRET. 

"  Dreadful  indeed  !  I  don't  know  what  I  should  do 
with  such  a  wife.'' 

"  Would  not  you  forgive  her  if  you  loved  her  very 
much?"  asked  Lady  Lucy,  and  she  spoke  in  a  singularly 
calm  tone  of  suppressed  emotion. 

"  Once,  perhaps,  once  ;  and  if  her  fault  were  the  fault 
of  youthful  inexperience, — but  so  much  falseness,  mean 
deception,  and  mental  deterioration  must  have  accom 
panied  such  transactions,  that — in  short,  I  thank  Heaven 
that  I  have  never  been  put  to  the  trial." 

As  he  spoke,  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Ferrars  were  fixed  on 
the  leading  article  of  the  Times,  not  on  his  wife.  Pre 
sently  Lady  Lucy  glided  from  the  room,  without  her 
absence  being  at  the  moment  observed.  Once  in  her 
dressing-room,  she  turned  the  key,  and  sinking  into  a 
low  chair,  gave  vent  to  her  grief  in  some  of  the  bitterest 
tears  she  had  ever  shed.  She,  too,  was  in  debt ;  "  fright 
fully,"  her  husband  had  used  the  right  word  ;  "  hopeless 
ly,"  so  far  as  satisfying  her  creditors,  even  out  of  the 
large  allowance  Mr.  Ferrars  made  her  ;  and  still  she  had 
not  the  courage  voluntarily  tc  tell  the  truth,  which  yet 
she  knew  must  burst  upon  him  ere  long.  From  what 
small  beginnings  had  this  Upas  shadow  come  upon  her ! 
And  what  "  falseness,  mean  deception,  and  mental 
deterioration"  had  truly  been  hers  ! 

Even  the  fancied  relief  of  weeping  was  a  luxury  denied 
to  her,  for  she  feared  to  show  the  evidence  of  tears ; 
thus  after  a  little  while  she  strove  to  drive  them  back, 
and  by  bathing  her  face  before  the  glass,  and  drawing 
the  braids  of  her  soft  hair  a  little  nearer  her  eyes,  she 
was  tolerably  successful  in  hiding  their  trace.  Never, 


LADY  LUCY'S  SECRET.  135 

when  dressing  for  court  or  gala,  had  she  consulted  her 
mirror  so  closely ;  and  now,  though  the  tears  were  dried, 
she  was  shocked  at  the  lines  of  anguish — those  delvers 
of  the  wrinkles  of  age — which  marked  her  countenance. 
She  sat  before  her  looking-glass,  one  hand  supporting 
her  head,  the  other  clutching  the  hidden  letters  which 
she  had  not  yet  the  courage  to  open.  There  was  a  light 
tap  at  the  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  inquired  Lady  Lucy. 

"  It  is  I,  my  lady,"  replied  Harris,  her  faithful  maid. 
"  Madame  Dalmas  is  here." 

Lady  Lucy  unlocked  the  door  and  gave  orders  that 
the  visitor  should  be  shown  up.  With  the  name  had 
come  a  flush  of  hope  that  some  trifling  temporary  help 
would  be  hers.  Madame  Dalmas  called  herself  a 
Frenchwoman,  and  signed  herself  "  Antoinette,"  but  she 
was  really  an  English  Jewess  of  low  extraction,  whose 
true  name  was  Sarah  Solomons.  Her  "  profession"  was 
to  purchase — and  sell — the  cast-off"  apparel  of  ladies  of 
fashion ;  and  few  of  the  sisterhood  have  carried  the  art 
of  double  cheating  to  so  great  a  proficiency.  With 
always  a  roll  of  bank-notes  in  her  old  leathern  pocket- 
book,  and  always  a  dirty  canvass  bag  full  of  bright 
sovereigns  in  her  pocket,  she  had  ever  the  subtle  tempta 
tion  for  her  victims  ready. 

Madame  Dalmas — for  she  must  be  called  according  to 
the  name  engraved  on  her  card — was  a  little  meanly- 
dressed  woman  of  about  forty,  with  bright  eyes  and  a 
hooked  nose,  a  restless  shuffling  manner,  and  an  ill- 
pitched  voice.  Her  jargon  was  a  mixture  of  bad  French 
and  worse  English. 


136  LADY  LUCY'S   SECRET. 

"  Bon  jour,  miladi  Lucy,"  she  exclaimed  as  she  entered 
Lady  Lucy's  sanctum  ;  "  need  not  inquire  of  health,  you 
look  si  charmante.  Oh,  si  belle ! — that  make  you  wear 
old  clothes  so  longer  dan  oder  ladies,  and  have  so  leetel 
for  me  to  buy.  Milady  Lucy  Ferrars  know  she  look 
well  in  anyting,  but  yet  she  should  not  wear  old  clothes : 
no  right — for  example — for  de  trade,  and  de  hoosband 
always  like  de  wife  well  dressed — ha — ha  !" 

Poor  Lady  Lucy !  Too  sick  at  heart  to  have  any 
relish  for  Madame  Dalmas'  nauseous  compliments,  and 
more  than  half  aware  of  her  cheats  and  falsehoods,  she 
yet  tolerated  the  creature  from  her  own  dire  necessities. 

*'  Sit  down,  Madame  Dalmas,"  she  said,  "  I  am  dread 
fully  in  want  of  money ;  but  I  really  don't  know  what  I 
have  for  you." 

"  De  green  velvet,  which  you  not  let  me  have  before 
.Easter,  I  still  give  you  four  pounds  for  it,  though  per 
haps  you  worn  it  very  much  since  then." 

"  Only  twice — only  seven  times  in  all — and  it  cost  me 
twenty  guineas,"  sighed  Lady  Lucy. 

"  Ah,  but  so  old-fashioned — I  do  believe  I  not  see  my 
money  for  it.  Voyez-vous,  de  Lady  Lucy  is  one  petite 
lady — si  jolie,  mais  tres  petite.  If  she  were  de  tall 
grand  lady,  you  see  de  great  dresses  could  fit  small  lady, 
but  de  leetle  dresses  fit  but  ver  few." 

"If  I  sell  the  green  velvet  I  must  have  another  next 
winter  !"  murmured  Lady  Lucy. 

"  Ah  ! — vous  avez  raison — when  de  season  nouveaute*a 
come  in.  I  tell  you  what — you  let  me  have  also  de 
white  lace  robe  you  show  me  once,  the  same  time  I 
bought  from  you  one  iittle  old  pearl  brooch." 


LADY   LUCY'S   SECRET.  IS'l 

"  My  wedding-dress  ?  Oh,  no,  I  cannot  sell  my 
wedding -dress !"  exclaimed  poor  Lady  Lucy,  pressing 
her  hands  conclusively  together. 

"  What  for  not? — you  not  want  to  marry  over  again 
— I  give  you  twenty-two  pounds  for  it." 

"  Twenty-two  pounds  ! — why,  it  is  Brussels  point,  and 
cost  a  hundred  and  twenty." 

"  Ah,  I  know — but  you  forget  I  perhaps  keep  it  ten 
years  and  not  sell — and  besides  you  buy  dear ;  great 
lady  often  buy  ver  dear!"  and  Madame  Dalmas  shook 
her  head  Avith  the  solemnity  of  a  sage. 

"No,  no;  I  cannot  sell  my  wedding-dress,"  again 
murmured  the  wife.  And  be  it  recorded,  the  temptress, 
for  once,  was  baffled ;  but,  at  the  expiration  of  an  hour, 
Madame  Dalmas  left  the  house,  with  a  huge  bundle 
under  her  arm,  and  a  quiet  satisfaction  revealed  in  her 
countenance,  had  any  one  thought  it  worth  while  to  study 
the  expression  of  her  disagreeable  face. 

Again  Lady  Lucy  locked  her  door ;  and  placing  a 
bank  note  and  some  sovereigns  on  the  table,  she  sank 
into  a  low  chair,  and  while  a  few  large  silent  tears  flowed 
down  her  cheeks,  she  at  last  found  courage  to  open  the 
three  letters  which  had  hitherto  remained,  unread,  in  her 
apron  pocket.  The  first,  the  second,  seemed  to  contain 
nothing  to  surprise  her,  however  much  there  might  be  to 
annoy;  but  it  Avas  different  Avith  the  last;  here  was  a 
gross  overcharge,  and  perhaps  it  was  not  with  quite  a 
disagreeable  feeling  that  Lady  Lucy  found  something  of 
which  she  could  justly  complain.  She  rose  hurriedly 
and  unlocked  a  small  Avriting-desk,  which  had  long  been 
used  as  a  receptacle  for  old  letters  and  accounts. 


138  LADY   LUCY'S   SECRET. 

To  tell  the  truth,  the  interior  of  the  desk  did  not 
present  a  very  orderly  arrangement.  Cards  of  address, 
bills  paid  and  unpaid,  copies  of  verses,  and  papers  of 
many  descriptions,  were  huddled  together,  and  it  was 
not  by  any  means  surprising  that  Lady  Lucy  failed  in 
her  search  for  the  original  account  by  which  to  rectify 
the  error  in  her  shoemaker's  bill.  In  the  hurry  and 
nervous  trepidation,  which  had  latterly  become  almost  a 
constitutional  ailment  with  her,  she  turned  out  the  con 
tents  of  the  writing-desk  into  an  easy-chair,  and  then 
kneeling  before  it,  she  set  herself  to  the  task  of  carefully 
examining  the  papers.  Soon  she  came  to  one  letter 
which  had  been  little  expected  in  that  place,  and  which 
still  bore  the  marks  of  a  rose,  whose  withered  leaves  also 
remained,  that  had  been  put  away  in  its  folds.  The 
rose  Walter  Ferrars  had  given  her  on  the  eve  of  their 
marriage,  and  the  letter  was  in  his  handwriting,  and 
bore  but  a  few  days  earlier  date.  With  quickened  pulses 
she  opened  the  envelope ;  and  though  a  mist  rose  before 
her  eyes,  it  seemed  to  form  into  a  mirror  in  which  she 
saw  the  by-gone  hours.  And  so  she  read — and  read. 

It  is  the  fashion  to  laugh  at  love-letters,  perhaps  be 
cause  only  the  silly  ones  ever  come  to  light.  With  the 
noblest  of  both  sexes  such  effusions  are  sacred,  and  would 
be  profaned  by  the  perusal  of  a  third  person :  but  when 
a  warm  and  true  heart  is  joined  to  a  manly  intellect; 
when  reason  sanctions  and  constancy  maintains  the 
choice  which  has  been  made,  there  is  little  doubt  that 
much  of  simple,  truthful,  touching  eloquence  is  often  to 
be  found  in  a  "lover's"  letter.  That  which  the  wife 
now  perused  with  strange  and  mingled  feelings  was  evi- 


LADY  LUCY'S   SECRET.  139 

dently  a  reply  to  some  girlish  depreciation  of  herself, 
and  contained  these  words  : — 

"  You  tell  me  that  in  the  scanty  years  of  your  past 
life,  you  already  look  back  on  a  hundred  follies,  and  that 
you  have  unnumbered  faults  of  character  at  which  I  do 
not  even  guess.  Making  some  allowance  for  a  figurative 
expression,  I  will  answer  'it  may  be  so.'  What  then? 
I  have  never  called  you  an  angel,  and  never  desired  you 
to  be  perfect.  The  weaknesses  which  cling,  tendril-like, 
to  a  fine  nature,  not  unfrequently  bind  us  to  it  by  ties 
we  do  not  seek  to  sever.  I  know  you  for  a  true-hearted 
girl,  but  with  the  bitter  lessons  of  life  still  unlearned ; 
let  it  be  my  part  to  shield  you  from  their  sad  knowledge, 
— yet  whatever  sorrow  or  evil  falls  upon  you,  I  must  or 
ought  to  share.  Let  us  have  no  secrets  ;  and  while  the 
Truth  which  gives  its  purest  lustre  to  your  eye,  and  its 
richest  rose  to  your  cheek,  still  reigns  in  your  soul,  I 
cannot  dream  of  a  fault  grave  enough  to 'deserve  harsher 
rebuke  than  the  kiss  of  forgiveness." 

What  lines  to  read  at  such  a  moment !  No  wonder 
their  meaning  reached  her  mind  far  differently  than  it 
had  done  when  they  were  first  received.  Then  she  coul  J 
have  little  heeded  it ;  witness  how  carelessly  the  letter 
had  been  put  away — how  forgotten  had  been  its  contents 

Her  tears  flowed  in  torrents,  but  Lucy  Ferrars  nc 
longer  strove  to  check  them.  And  yet  there  gleamed 
through  them  a  brighter  smile  than  had  visited  her  coun 
tenance  for  many  a  month.  A  resolve  approved  by  all 
her  better  nature  was  growing  firm  within  her  heart; 
and  that  which  an  hour  before  would  have  seemed  too 
to  contemplate  was  losing  half  its  terrors.  How 


140  LADY  LUCY'S   SECRET. 

often  an  ascent,  which  looks  in  the  distance  a  bare  pre 
cipice,  shows  us,  when  we  approach  its  face,  the  notches 
by  which  we  may  climb  ! — and  not  a  few  of  the  difficul 
ties  of  life  yield  to  our  will  when  we  bravely  encounter 
them. 

"Why  did  I  fear  him  so  much?"  murmured  Lady 
Lucy  to  herself.  "  I  ought  not  to  have  needed  such  un 
assurance  as  this  to  throw  myself  at  his  feet,  and  bear 
even  scorn  and  rebuke,  rather  than  prolong  the  reign  of 
falsehood  and  deceit.  Yes — yes,"  and  gathering  a  heap 
of  papers  in  her  hand  with  the  "love-letter"  beneath 
them,  she  descended  the  stairs. 

There  is  no  denying  that  Lady  Lucy  paused  at  the 
library  door — no  denying  that  her  heart  beat  quickly, 
and  her  breath  seemed  well-nigh  spent ;  but  she  was 
right  to  act  on  the  good  impulse,  and  not  wait  until  the 
new-born  courage  should  sink. 

Mr.  Ferrars  had  finished  the  newspaper,  and  was  writ 
ing  an  unimportant  note;  his  back  was  to  the  door,  and 
hearing  the  rustle  of  his  wife's  dress,  and  knowing  her 
step,  he  did  not  turn  his  head  sufficiently  to  observe  her 
countenance,  but  he  said,  good-humouredly, 

"At  last!  What  have  you  been  about?  I  thought 
we  were  to  go  out  before  luncheon  to  look  at  the  brace 
let  I  mentioned  to  you." 

"No,  Walter — no  bracelet — you  must  never  give  mo 
any  jewels  again  ;"  and_as  Lady  Lucy  spoke  she  leaned 
against  a  chair  for  support.  At  such  words  her  husband 
turned  quickly  round,  started  up,  and  exclaimed, 

'"  Lucy,  my  love  ! — in  tears — what  has  happened  ?" 
and  finding  that  even  when  he  wound  his  arm  round  her 


LADY  LUCY'S  SECRET.  Ill 

she  still  was  mute,  he  continued,  "  Speak — this  silence 
breaks  my  heart — what  have  I  done  to  lose  your  confi 
dence  ?" 

"Not  you — I — "gasped  the  wife.  "  Your  words  at 
breakfast — this  letter — have  rolled  the  stone  from  my 
heart — I  must  confess — the  truth — I  am  like  Mrs.  Beau 
fort — in  debt — frightfully  in  debt."  And  with  a  ges 
ture,  as  if  she  would  crush  herself  into  the  earth,  she 
slipped  from  his  arms  and  sank  literally  on  the  floor. 

Whatever  pang  Mr.  Ferrars  felt  at  the  knowledge  of 
her  fault,  it  seemed  overpowered  by  the  sense  of  her 
present  anguish — an  anguish  that  proved  how  bitter  had 
been  the  expiation  ;  and  he  lifted  his  wife  to  a  sofa,  bent 
over  her  with  fondness,  called  her  by  all  the  dear  pet 
names  to  which  her  ear  was  accustomed,  and  nearer 
twenty  times  than  once  gave  her  the  "  kiss  of  forgive 
ness." 

"  And  it  is  of  you  I  have  been  afraid !"  cried  Lady 
Lucy,  clinging  to  his  hand.  "You  who  I  thought 
would  never  make  any  excuses"  for  faults  you  yourself 
could  not  have  committed  !" 

"  I  have  never  been  tempted." 

"  Have  I  ?     I  dare  not  say  so." 

"  Tell  me  how  it  all  came  about,"  said  Mr.  Ferrars, 
Irawing  her  to  him  ;  "  tell  me  from  the  beginning." 

But  his  gentleness  unnerved  her — she  felt  choking — 
loosened  the  collar  of  her  dress  for  breathing  space — • 
and  gave  him  the  knowledge  he  asked  in  broken  excla 
mations. 

"  Before  I  was  married — it — began.  They  persuaded 
me  so  many — oh,  so  many — unnecessary  things  were — 


142  LADY   LUCY'S    SEClttJT. 

needed  Then  they  would  not  send  the  bills — and  I — 
for  a  long  time — never  knew — what  I  owed — and  then 
— and  then — I  thought  I  should  have  the  power — but — " 

"Your  allowance  was  not  sufficient?"  asked  Mr.  Fer- 
rars,  pressing  her  hand  as  he  spoke. 

"Oh,  yes,  yes,  yes!  most  generous,  and  yet  it  was 
always  forestalled  to  pay  old  bills ;  and  then — and  then 
my  wants  -were  so  many.  I  was  so  weak.  Madame 
Dalmas  has  had  dresses  I  could  have  worn  when  I  had 
new  ones  on  credit  instead,  and — and  Harris  has  had 
double  wages  to  compensate  for  what  a  lady's  maid 
thinks  her  perquisites ;  even  articles  I  might  have  given 
to  poor  gentlewomen  I  have  been  mean  enough  to  sell. 
Oh,  Walter !  I  have  been  very  wrong ;  but  I  have  been 
miserable  for  at  least  three  years.  I  have  felt  as  if  an 
iron  cage  were  rising  round  me — from  which  you  only 
could  free  me — and  yet,  till  to-day,  I  think  I  could  have 
died  rather  than  confess  to  you." 

"  My  poor  girl !  Why  should  you  have  feared  me  ? 
Have  I  ever  been  harsh  ?" 

"  Oh,  no  ! — no — but  you  are  so  just — so  strict  in  all 
these  things — " 

"I  hope  I  am;  and  yet  not  the  less  do  I  understand 
how  all  this  has  come  about.  Now,  Lucy — now  that 
you  have  ceased  to  fear  me — tell  me  the  amount." 

She  strove  to  speak,  but  could  not. 

•'Three  figures  or  four?  tell  me." 

"I  am  afraid — yes,  I  am  afraid  four,"  murmured 
Lady  Lucy,  and  hiding  her  face  from  his  view ;  "  yes, 
four  figures,  and  my  quarter  received  last  week  gono 
every  penny." 


LADY   LUCY'S   SECRET.  MS 

"  Lucy,  every  bill  shall  be  paid  this  day ;  but  you 
must  reward  me  by  being  happy." 

"  Generous  !  dearest !  But,  Walter,  if  you  had  been 
a  poor  man,  what  then  ?" 

"Ah,  Lucy,  that  would  have  been  a  very  different  arid 
an  infinitely  sadder  story.  Instead  of  the  relinquish- 
ment  of  some  indulgence  hardly  to  be  missed,  there 
might  have  been  ruin  and  poverty  and  disgrace;  You 
have  one  excuse, — at  least  you  knew  that  I  could  pay  at 
last." 

"  Ah,  but  at  what  a  price !  The  price  of  your  love 
and  confidence." 

"No,  Lucy — for  your  confession  has  been  voluntary; 
and  I  will  not  ask  myself  what  I  should  have  felt  had 
the  knowledge  come  from  another.  After  all,  you  have 
fallen  to  a  temptation  which  besets  the  wives  of  the  rich 
far  more  than  those  of  poor  or  struggling  gentlemen. 
Tradespeople  are  shrewd  enough  in  one  respect :  they 
do  not  press  their  commodities  and  long  credit  in 
quarters  where  ultimate  payment  seems  doubtful — 
though " 

"They  care  not  what  domestic  misery  they  create 
among  the  rich,"  interrupted  Lady  Lucy,  bitterly. 

"  Stay :  there  are  faults  on  both  sides,  not  the  least 
of  them  being  that  girls  in  your  station  are  too  rarely 
taught  the  value  of  money,  or  that  integrity  in  money 
matters  should  be  to  them  a  point  of  honour  second  only 
to  one  other.  Now  listen,  my  darling,  before  we  dis 
miss  this  painful  subject  for  ever.  You  have  the  greatest 
confidence  in  your  maid,  and  entre  nous  she  must  be  a . 
good  deal  in  the  secret.  We  shall  bribe  her  to  discre- 


144  A   \VORD   FOR   WIVES. 

tion,  however,  by  dismissing  Madame  Dalmas  at  once 
and  for  ever.  As  soon  as  you  can  spare  Harris,  I  will 
send  her  to  change  a  check  at  Coutts's,  and  then,  for 
expedition  and  security,  she  shall  take  on  the  brougham 
and  make  a  round  to  these  tradespeople.  Meanwhile,  I 
will  drive  you  in  the  phaeton  to  look  at  the  bracelet." 

"Oh,  no — no,  dear  Walter,  not  the  bracelet." 

"  Yes — yes — I  say  yes.  Though  not  a  quarrel,  thia 
is  a  sorrow  which  has  come  between  us,  and  there  must 
be  a  peace-offering".  Besides,  I  would  not  have  you 
think  that  you  had  reached  the  limits  of  my  will,  and  of 
my  means  to  gratify  you." 

"  To  think  that  I  could  have  doubted — that  I  could 
have  feared  you!"  sobbed  Lady  Lucy,  as  tears  of  joy 
coursed  down  her  cheeks.  "  But,  Walter,  it  is  not  every 
husband  who  would  have  shown  such  generosity." 

"  I  think  there  are  few  husbands,  Lucy,  who  do  not 
estimate  truth  and  candour  as  among  the  chief  of  conju 
gal  virtues : — ah,  had  you  confided  in  me  when  first  you 
felt  the  bondage  of  debt,  how  much  anguish  would  have 
been  spared  you !" 


A  WORD  FOR  WIVES. 

WHAT  is  it  ?  A  little  pencil  note,  crumpled  and  worTi, 
as  if  carried  for  a  long  time  in  one's  pocket.  I  found  it 
in  a  box  of  precious  things  that  Fanny's  mother  had 
hoarded  so  choicely,  because  Fanny  had  been  choice  of 
them.  I  must  read  it,  for  everything  of  Fanny's  is  cie<v 


A   WORD   FOR   WIVES.  145 

to  us  now.     All !  'tis  a  note  from  a  gentleman  who  "was 

at  school  with  us  at  F ,  whom  Fanny  esteemeJ  so 

much,  whom  we  both  esteemed  for  his  sterling  integrity, 
and  his  gentleness.  It  is  precious,  too,  as  a  reminder 
of  him.  I  love  the  remembrance  of  old  schoolfellows, — 
of  frolicsome,  foolish,  frivolous,  loving  schooldays.  But 
let  me  read.  'Tis  mostly  rubbed  out,  but  here  is  a 
place. 

"  You  know  full  well  that  long  since,  *  that  dear  cou 
sin  permitted  me  to  call  her  by  the  endearing  name  of 
sister ;  and  may  I  not,  when  far  away,  thinking  of  by 
gones,  add  your  name  to  hers  in  the  sisterly  list  ?  You 
asked  me  when  I  had  heard  from  the  dear  one:  she  was 
down  here  a  short  hour  last  week,  but  what  was  that 
among  so  many  who  wished  to  see  her  ?" 

Ah  !  that  means  me  !  If  I  had  only  known  it  then  ! 
And  just  now  I  was  wondering  if  he  really  loved  me,  and 
perhaps  felt  almost  in  my  secret  heart  to  grieve  a  bit — 
to  murmur  at  him.  I  fear  I  spoke  as  he  little  dreamed 
then  the  "dear  one"  would  ever  do.  What  shall  I  do  ? 
I  remember  him  now,  in  all  his  young  loveliness,  in  alJ 
the  excitability  of  a  first  love,  and  my  heart  kindles  too 
warmly  to  write  what  I  wished. 

What  if  one  had  told  me  then  that  my  home  would  be 
in  his  heart — that  my  beautiful  Alrna  would  be  his  child ! 
My  Alma,  my  beautiful  babe  !  how  sweetly  she  nestles 
her  little  face  in  his  neck.  She  has  stolen  her  mother's 
place  ;  little  thief!  I  wonder  she  does  not  steal  his  win  le 
heart  to  the  clear  shutting  out  of  her  mother  ! 

Little  wives  !  if  ever  a  half  suppressed  sigh  finds  place 
with  you,  or  a  half  unloving  word  escapes  you  to  the 
10 


146  A   WORD   FOR   AVIVES. 

husband  whom  you  love,  let  your  heart  go  back  to  some 
tender  word  in  those  first  love-days  ;  remember  how  you 
loved  him  then,  how  tenderly  he  wooed  you,  how  timidly 
you  responded,  and  if  you  can  feel  that  you  have  not 
grown  unworthy,  trust  him  for  the  same  fond  love  now. 
If  you  do  feel  that  through  many  cares  and  trials  of  life, 
you  have  become  less  lovable  and  attractive  than  then, 
turn — by  all  that  you  love  on  earth,  or  hope  for  in 
Heaven,  turn  back,  and  be  the  pattern  of  loveliness  that 
•won  him ;  be  the  "dear  one"  your  attractions  made  you 
then.  Be  the  gentle,  loving,  winning  maiden  still,  and 
doubt  not,  the  lover  you  admired  will  live  for  ever  in 
your  husband.  Nestle  by  his  side,  cling  to  his  love,  and 
let  his  confidence  in  you  never  fail,  and,  my  word  for  it, 
the  husband  will  be  dearer  than  the  lover  ever  was. 
Above  all  things,  do  not  forget  the  love  he  gave  you 
first.  Do  not  seek  to  "  emancipate"  yourself — do  not 
strive  to  unsex  yourself  and  become  a  Lucy  Stone,  or  a 
Rev.  Miss  Brown,  but  love  the  higher  honour  ordained 
by  our  Saviour,  of  old — that  of  a  loving  wife.  A  happy 
wife,  a  blessed  mother,  can  have  no  higher  station,  needs 
no  greater  honour. 

Little  wives,  remember  your  first  love.  As  for  me,  I 
see  again  the  little  crumpled  note  about  the  "dear  one," 
and  I  must  go  to  find  love  and  forgiveness  in  his  arms. 


No  JEWELED  BEAUTY. 


NO  JEWELLED  BEAUTY. 

No  jewelled  Beauty  is  my  Love, 

Yet  in  her  earnest  face 
There's  such  a  world  of  tenderness, 

She  needs  no  other  grace. 
Her  smiles,  and  voice,  around  my  life 

In  light  and  music  twine, 
And  dear,  oh  very  dear  to  me, 

Is  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 

Oh,  joy !  to  know  there's  one  fond  heart 

Beats  ever  true  to  me  : 
It  sets  mine  leaping  like  a  lyre, 

In  sweetest  melody ; 
My  soul  up-springs,  a  Deity  1 

To  hear  her  voice  divine, 
And  dear,  oh  !  very  dear  to  me, 

Is  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 

If  ever  I  have  sigh'd  for  wealth, 

'Twas  all  for  her,  I  trow ; 
And  if  I  win  Fame's  victor-wreath, 

I'll  twine  it  on  her  brow. 
There  may  be  forms  more  beautiful, 

And  souls  of  sunnier  shine, 
But  none,  oh  !  none  so  dear  to  ma, 

As  this  sweet  Love  of  mine. 


THE  FIRST  MARRIAGE  IN  THE  FAMILY. 

"  HOME  !"  How  that  little  word  strikes  upon  the 
heart  strings,  awakening  all  the  sweet  memories  that 
had  slept  in  memory's  chamber !  Our  home  was  a 
"  pearl  of  price"  among  homes  ;  not  for  its  architectural 
elegance — for  it  was  only  a  four  gahled,  brown  country 
house,  shaded  by  two  antediluvian  oak  trees ;  nor  was 
its  interior  crowded  with  luxuries  that  charm  every  sense 
and  come  from  every  clime.  Its  furniture  had  grown 
old  with  us,  for  we  remembered  no  other ;  and  though 
polished  as  highly  as  furniture  could  be,  by  daily  scrub 
bing,  was  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  it  must  be 
confessed. 

But  neither  the  house  nor  its  furnishing  makes  the 
home  ;  and  the  charm  of  ours  lay  in  the  sympathy  that 
linked  the  nine  that  called  it  "home"  to  one  another. 
Father,  mother,  and  seven  children — five  of  them  gay- 
hearted  girls,  and  two  boys,  petted  just  enough  to  be 
spoiled — not  one  link  had  ever  dropped  from  the  chain 
of  love,  or  one  corroding  drop  fallen  upon  its  brightness. 

"  One  star  differeth  from  another  in  glory,"  even 
in  the  firmament  of  home.  Thus — though  we  could  not 
have  told  a  stranger  which  sister  or  brother  was  dearest 
— from  our  gentlest  "eldest,"  an  invalid  herself,  but  the 
comforter  and  counsellor  of  all  beside,  to  the  curly- 
haired  boy,  who  romped  and  rejoiced  in  the  appellation 
of  "  baby,"  given  five  years  before — still  an  observing  eye 
would  soon  have  singled  out  sister  Ellen  as  the  sunbeam 


THE    FIRST    MARRIAGE    IN    THE   FAMILY.  149 

of  our  heaven,  the  "morning  star"  of  our  constellation. 
She  was  the  second  in  age,  but  the  first  in  the  inherit 
ance  of  that  load  of  responsibility,  which  in  such  a 
household  falls  naturally  upon  the  eldest  daughter. 
Eliza,  as  I  have  said,  was  ill  from  early  girlhood ;  and 
Ellen  had  shouldered  all  her  burden  of  care  and  kind 
ness,  with  a  light  heart  and  a  lighter  step.  Up  stairs 
and  down  cellar,  in  the  parlour,  nursery,  or  kitchen — 
at  the  piano  or  the  wash-tub — with  pen,  pencil,  needle, 
or  ladle — sister  Ellen  was  always  busy,  always  with  a 
smile  on  her  cheek,  and  a  warble  on  her  lip. 

Quietly,  happily,  the  months  and  years  went  by.  We 
never  realized  that  change  was  to  come  over  our  band. 
To  be  sure,  when  mother  would  look  in  upon  us,  seated 
together  with  our  books,  paintings,  and  needle-work,  and 
say,  in  her  gentle  way,  with  only  a  half-sigh,  "  Ah, 
girls,  you  are  living  your  happiest  days !"  we  would 
glance  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  wonder  who  would  go 
first.  But  it  was  a  wonder  that  passed  away  with  the 
hour,  and  ruffled  not  even  the  surface  of  our  sisterly 
hearts.  It  could  not  be  always  so — and  the  change 
came  at  last ! 

Sister  Ellen  was  to  be  married  ! 

It  was  like  the  crash  of  a  thunderbolt  in  a  clear  sum 
mer  sky !  Sister  Ellen — the  fairy  of  the  hearthstone, 
the  darling  of  every  heart — which  of  us  could  spare 
her  ?  Who  had  been  so  presumptuous  as  to  find  out  her 
worth?  For  the  first  moment,  this  question  burst  from 
»?ach  surprised,  half-angry  sister  of  the  blushing,  tearful 
Ellen  !  It  was  only  for  a  moment ;  for  our  hearts  told 
us  that  nobody  could  help  loving  her,  who  had  looked 


150  THE   FIRST   MARRIAGE   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

through  hei  loving  blue  eyes,  into  the  clear  well-spring 
of  the  heart  beneath.  So  we  threw  our  arras  around 
her  and  sobbed  without  a  word  ! 

We  knew  very  well  that  the  young"  clergyman,  whoso 
Sunday  sermons  and  gentle  admonitions  had  won  all 
hearts,  had  been  for  months  a  weekly  visiter  to  our 
fireside  circle.  With  baby  Georgie  on  his  knee,  and 
Georgie's  brothers  and  sisters  clustered  about  him,  he 
had  sat  through  many  an  evening  charming  the  hours 
away,  until  the  clock  startled  us  with  its  unwelcome  nine 
o'clock  warning ;  and  jthe  softly  spoken  reminder,  "  Girls, 
it  is  bed-time !"  woke  more  than  one  stifled  sigh  of 
regret.  Then  sister  Ellen  must  always  go  with  us  to 
lay  Georgie  in  his  little  bed ;  to  hear  him  and  Annette 
repeat  the  evening  prayer  and  hymn  her  lips  had  taught 
them  ;  to  comb  out  the  long  brown  braids  of  Emily's 
head  ;  to  rob  Arthur  of  the  story  book,  over  which  he 
would  have  squandered  the  "  midnight  oil ;"  and  to 
breathe  a  kiss  and  a  blessing  over  the  pillow  of  each 
other  sister,  as  she  tucked  the  warm  blankets  tenderly 
about  them. 

We  do  not  know  how  often  of  late  she  had  stolen 
down  again,  from  these  sisterly  duties,  after  our  senses 
were  locked  in  sleep;  or  if  our  eyes  and  ears  had  ever 
been  open  to  the  fact,  we  could  never  have  suspected  the 
minister  to  be  guilty  of  such  a  plot  against  our  peace  ! 
That  name  was  associated,  in  our  minds,  with  all  that 
was  superhuman.  The  gray-haired  pastor,  who  had 
gone  to  his  grave  six  months  previous,  had  sat  as  fre- 
4uently  on  that  same  oaken  arm-chair,  and  talked  with 
us.  We  had  loved  him  as  a  father  and  friend,  and  had 


THE   FIRST    MARRIAGE   IN    THE   FAMILY.  151 

almost  worshipped  him  as  the  embodiment  of  all  attain 
able  goodness.  And  when  Mr.  Neville  came  among  us, 
with  his  high,  pale  forehead,  and  soul-kindled  eye,  we 
had  thought  his  face  also  "the  face  of  an  angel" — too 
glorious  for  the  print  of  mortal  passion !  Especially 
after,  in  answer  to  an  urgent  call  from  the  people  among 
whom  he  was  labouring,  he  had  frankly  told  them  that 
his  purpose  was  not  to  remain  among  them,  or  anywhere 
on  his  native  shore ;  that  he  only  waited  the  guidance 
of  Providence  to  a  home  in  a  foreign  clime.  After  this 
much-bewailed  disclosure  of  his  plans,  we  placed  our 
favourite  preacher  on  a  higher  pinnacle  of  saintship  ! 

But  sister  Ellen  was  to  be  married — and  married  to 
Mr.  Neville.  And  then — "  Oh,  sister,  you  are  not  going 
away,  to  India  !"  burst  from  our  lips,  with  a  fresh  gush 
of  sobs. 

I  was  the  first  to  look  up  into  Ellen's  troubled  face. 
It  was  heaving  with  emotions  that  ruffled  its  calmness, 
as  the  tide-waves  ruffle  the  sea.  Her  lips  were  firmly 
compressed  ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  some  distant  dream, 
glassed  with  two  tears,  that  stood  still  in  their  chalices, 
forbidden  to  fall.  I  almost  trembled  as  I  caught  her 
glance. 

"  Sister  !  Agnes — Emily  !"  she  exclaimed,  in  a  husky 
whisper.  "  Hush  !  be  calm  !  Don't  break  my  heart ! 
Do  I  love  home  less  than — " 

The  effort  was  too  much ;  the  words  died  on  her  lips. 
We  lifted  her  to  bed,  frightened  into  forgetfulness  of  her 
own  grief.  We  soothed  her  until  she,  too,  wept  freely 
and  passionately,  and,  in  weeping,  grew  strong  for  tho 
sacrifice,  to  which  she  had  pledged  her  heart. 


152  THE   FIRST   MARRIAGE   IN    THE   FAMILY. 

We  never  spoke  another  word  of  remonstrance  to  her 
tender  heart,  though  often,  in  the  few  months  that  flitted 
by  us  together,  we  used  to  choke  with  sobbing,  in  some 
speech  that  hinted  of  the  coming  separation,  and  hurry 
from  her  presence  to  cry  alone. 

Our  mother  has  told  us  the  tidings  with  white  lips  that 
quivered  tenderly  and  sadly.  No  love  is  so  uniformly 
unselfish  as  a  mother's,  surely ;  for  though  she  leaned 
on  Ellen  as  the  strong  staff  of  her  declining  years,  she 
sorrowed  not  as  we  did,  that  she  was  going.  She,  too, 
was  happy  in  the  thought  that  her  child  had  found  that 
"  pearl  of  price"  in  a  cold  and  evil  world — a  true,  noble, 
loving  heart  to  guide  and  protect  her. 

Father  sat  silently  in  the  chimney-corner,  reading  in 
the  family  Bible.  He  was  looking  farther  than  any  of 
us — to  the  perils  that  would  environ  his  dearest  daugh 
ter,  and  the  privations  that  might  come  upon  her  young 
life,  in  that  unhealthy,  uncivilized  corner  of  the  globe, 
whither  she  was  going.  Both  our  parents  had  dedicated 
their  children  to  God ;  and  they  would  not  cast  even  a 
shadow  on  the  path  of  self-sacrifice  and  duty  their  dar 
ling  had  chosen. 

To  come  down  to  the  unromantic  little  details  of  wed 
ding  preparations  ;  how  we  stitched  and  trimmod,  packed 
and  prepared — stoned  raisins  with  tears  in  our  eyes,  and 
seasoned  the  wedding  cake  with  sighs.  But  there  is 
little  use  in  thinking  over  these  things.  Ellen  was  first 
<ind  foremost  in  all,  as  she  had  always  been  in  every 
emergency,  great  or  small.  Nothing  could  be  made 
without  her.  Even  the  bride's  cake  was  taken  from  the 
oven  by  her  own  fair  hands,  because  no  one — servant, 


THE   FIRST   MARRIAGE  IN   THE   FAMILY.  153 

sister,  or  even  mother — was  willing  to  run  the  risk  of 
burning  sister  Ellen's  bride's  cake;  and  "  she  knew  just 
how  to  bake  it." 

We  were  not  left  alone  in  our  labours  :  for  Ellen  had 
been  loved  by  more  than  the  home-roof  sheltered.  Old 
and  young,  poor  and  rich,  united  in  bringing  their  gifts, 
regrets,  and  blessings  to  the  chosen  companion  of  the 
pastor  they  were  soon  to  lose.  There  is  something  in 
the  idea  of  missionary  life  that  touches  the  sympathy  of 
e^ery  heart  which  mammon  has  not  too  long  seared.  To 
see  one,  with  sympathies  and  refinements  like  our  own, 
rend  the  strong  ties  that  bind  to  country  and  home,  com 
fort  and  civilization,  for  the  good  of  the  lost  and  de 
graded  heathen,  brings  too  strongly  into  relief,  by  con 
trast,  the  selfishness  of  most  human  lives  led  among  the 
gayeties  and  luxuries  of  time. 

The  day,  the  hour  came.  The  ship  was  to  sail  from 
B.  on  the  ensuing  week  ;  and  it  must  take  away  an  idol. 

She  stood  up  in  the  village  church,  that  all  Avho  loved 
her,  and  longed  for  another  sight  of  her  sweet  face, 
might  look  upon  her,  and  speak  the  simple  words  that 
should  link  hearts  for  eternity.  We  sisters  stood  all 
around  her,  but  not  too  near ;  for  our  hearts  were  over 
flowing,  and  we  could  not  wear  the  happy  faces  that 
should  grace  a  train  of  bridesmaids.  She  had  cheered 
us  through  the  day  with  sunshine  from  her  own  heart, 
and  even  while  we  are  arraying  her  in  her  simple  white 
muslin,  like  a  lamb  for  sacrifice,  she  had  charmed  our 
thoughts  into  cheerfulness.  It  seemed  like  some  dream 
of  fairy  land,  and  she  the  embodiment  of  grace  and 
loveliness,  acting  the  part  of  some  Queen  Titania  for  a 


Ill  THE   FIRST    MARRIAGE   IN   THE   FAMILY. 

little  while.  The  dream  changed  to  a  far  different  reality, 
when,  at  the  door  of  her  mother's  room,  she  put  her 
hand  into  that  of  Henry  Neville,  and  lifted  her  eye  with 
a  look  that  said,  "Where  thou  goest  will  I  go,"  even 
from  all  beside! 

Tears  fell  fast  in  that  assembly ;  though  the  good  old 
matrons  tried  to  smile,  as  they  passed  around  the  bride, 
to  bless  her,  and  bid  her  good-bye.  A  little  girl,  in  a 
patched  but  clean  frock,  pushed  forward,  with  a  bouquet 
of  violets  and  strawberry-blossoms  in  her  hand. 

"  Here,  Miss  Nelly — please,  Miss  Nelly,"  she  cried, 
half-laughing,  half-sobbing,  "  I  picked  them  on  purpose 
for  you !" 

Ellen  stooped  and  kissed  the  little  eager  face.  The 
child  burst  into  tears,  and  caught  the  folds  of  her  dress, 
as  though  she  would  have  buried  her  face  there.  But  a 
strong-armed  woman,  mindful  of  the  bride's  attire, 
snatched  the  child  away. 

"  And  for  what  would  ye  be  whimpering  in  that  style, 
JLA  if  you  had  any  right  to  Miss  Ellen  ?" 

"  She  was  always  good  to  me,  and  she's  my  Sunday- 
school  teacher,"  pleaded  the  little  girl,  in  a  subdued 
undertone. 

Agnes  drew  her  to  her  side,  and  silently  comforted 
her. 

'•  Step  aside — Father  Herrick  is  here  !"  said  one,  just 
then. 

The  crowd  about  the  bridal  pair  opened,  to  admit  a 
Rhite-haircd,  half-blind  old  man,  who  came  leaning  on 
the  arm  of  his  rosy  grand-daughter.  Father  Herrick 
was  a  superannuated  deacon,  whose  good  words  and 


THE   FIRST   MARRIAGE   IN   THE   FAMILY.  155 

works  had  won  for  him  a  place  in  every  heart  of  that 
assembly. 

"  They  told  me  she  was  going,"  he  murmured  to  him 
self;  "they  say  'tis  her  wedding.  I  want  to  see  rny 
little  girl  again — bless  her  !" 

Ellen  sprang  forward,  and  laid  both  her  white  trem 
bling  hands  in  the  large  hand  of  the  good  old  man.  He 
dreAV  her  near  his  failing  eyes ;  and  looked  search ingly 
into  her  young,  soul-lit  countenance. 

"  I  can  just  see  you,  darling ;  and  they  tell  me  I  shall 
never  sec  you  again  !  Well,  well,  if  we  go  in  God's  way 
we  shall  all  get  to  Heaven,  and  it's  all  light  there!"  He 
raised  his  hand  over  her  head,  and  added,  solemnly, 
"  The  blessing  of  blessings  be  upon  thee,  my  child. 
Amen  !" 

"  Amen  !"  echoed  the  voice  of  Henry  Neville. 

And  Ellen  looked  up  with  the  look  of  an  angel. 

So  she  went  from  us  !  Oh  !  the  last  moment  of  that 
parting  hour  has  burnt  itself  into  my  being  for  ever  ! 
Could  the  human  heart  endure  the  agony  of  parting  like 
that,  realized  to  be  indeed  the  last — lighted  by  no  ray 
of  hope  for  eternity  !  Would  not  reason  reel  under  the 
pressure  ? 

It  was  hard  to  bear ;  but  I  have  no  words  to  tell  of 
its  bitterness.  She  went  to  her  missionary  life,  and  we 
learned  at  last  to  live  without  her,  though  it  was  many 
a  month  before  the  'ittle  ones  could  forget  to  call  on 
"  Sister  Ellen"  in  any  impulse  of  joy,  grief,  or  childish 
want.  Then  the  start  and  the  sigh,  "Oh,  dear,  she's 
gone — sister  is  gone  !''  And  fresh  tears  would  flow. 

Gone,  but  not  lost ;  for  that  First  Marriage  in  the 


15ft  ONLY    A    FEW    WORDS. 

family  opened  to  us  a  fountain  of  happiness,  pure  as  the 
spring  of  self-sacrifice  could  make  it.  Our  household 
darling  has  linked  us  to  a  world  of  needy  and  perishing 
spirits — a  world  that  asks  for  the  energy  and  the  aid  of 
those  who  go  from  us,  and  those  who  remain  in  the  dear 
country  of  their  birth.  God  bless  her  and  her  charge  ! 
Dear  sister  Ellen  !  there  may  be  many  another  breach 
in  the  family — we  may  all  be  scattered  to  the  four  winds 
of  heaven — but  no  change  can  come  over  ins  like  that 
which  marked  the  FIRST  MARRIAGE. 


ONLY  A  FEW  WORDS. 

MR.  JAMES  WINKLEMAN  shut  the  door  with  a  jar,  as 
he  left  the  house,  and  moved  down  the  street,  in  the 
direction  of  his  office,  with  a  quick,  firm  step,  and  the 
air  of  a  man  slightly  disturbed  in  mind. 

"  Things  are  getting  better  fast,"  said  he,  with  a  touch 
of  irony  in  his  voice,  as  he  almost  flung  himself  into  his 
leather-cushioned  chair.  "  It's  rather  hard  when  a  man 
has  to  pick  his  words  in  his  own  house,  as  carefully  as 
if  he  were  picking  diamonds,  and  tread  as  softly  as  if 
ne  Avas  stepping  on  eggs.  I  don't  like  it.  Mary  gets 
weaker  and  more  foolish  every  day,  and  puts  a  breadth 
of  meaning  on  my  words  that  I  never  intended  them  to 
have.  I've  not  been  used  to  this  conning  over  of  sen 
tences  and  picking  out  of  all  doubtful  expressions  ere 
venturing  to  speak,  and  I'm  too  old  to  begin  now.  Mary 


ONLY   A   FEW   WORDS.  157 

took  me  for  what  I  am,  and  she  must  make  the  most  of 
her  bargain.  I'm  past  the  age  for  learning  new  tricks." 

With  these  and  many  other  justifying  sentences,  did 
Mr.  Winkleman  seek  to  obtain  a  feeling  of  self-approval. 
But,  for  all  this,  he  could  not  shut  out  the  image  of  a 
tearful  face,  nor  get  rid  of  an  annoying  conviction  that 
he  had  acted  thoughtlessly,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  in 
speaking  to  his  wife  as  he  had  done. 

But  what  was  all  this  trouble  about  ?  Clouds  were  in 
the  sky  that  bent  over  the  home  of  Mr.  Winkleman, 
and  it  is  plain  that  Mr.  Winkleman  himself  had  his  own 
share  in  the  work  of  producing  these  clouds.  Only  a 
few  unguarded  words  had  been  spoken.  Only  words ! 
And  was  that  all  ? 

Words  are  little  things,  but  they  sometimes  strike 
hard.  We  wield  them  so  easily  that  we  are  apt  to  forget 
their  hidden  power.  Fitly  spoken,  they  fall  like  the 
sunshine,  the  dew,  and  the  fertilizing  rain ;  but,  when 
unfitly,  like  the  frost,  the  hail,  and  the  desolating  tem 
pest.  Some  men  speak  as  they  feel  or  think,  without 
calculating  the  force  of  what  they  say ;  and  then  seem 
very  much  surprised  if  any  one  is  hurt  or  offended.  To 
this  class  belonged  Mr.  Winkleman.  His  wife  was  a 
loving,  sincere  woman,  quick  to  feel.  Words,  to  her, 
were  indeed  things.  They  never  fell  upon  her  cars  as 
idle  sounds.  How  often  was  her  poor  heart  bruised  by 
them ! 

On  this  particular  morning,  Mrs.  Winkleman,  whose 
health  was  feeble,  found  herself  in  a  weak,  nervous  state. 
It  was  only  by  an  effort  that  she  pould  rise  above  the 
morbid  irritability  that  afflicted  her.  Earnestly  did  she 


158  ONLY   A   FEW   WOBDS. 

strive  to  repress  the  disturbed  beatings  of  her  heart,  but 
she  strove  in  vain.  And  it  seemed  to  her,  as  it  often 
does  in  such  cases,  that  everything  went  wrong.  The 
children  were  fretful,  the  cook  dilatory  and  cross,  and 
Mr.  Winkleman  impatient,  because  sundry  little  matters 
pertaining  to  his  wardrobe  were  not  just  to  his  mind. 

"Eight  o'clock,  and  no  breakfast  yet,"  said  Mr.  A\riu- 
kleman,  as  he  drew  out  his  watch,  on  completing  his  own 
toilet.  Mrs.  Winkleman  was  in  the  act  of  dressing  tho 
last  of  five  children,  all  of  whom  had  passed  under  her 
hands.  Each  had  been  captious,  cross,  or  unruly,  sorely 
trying  the  mother's  patience.  Twice  had  she  been  in 
the  kitchen,  to  see  how  breakfast  was  progressing,  and 
to  enjoin  the  careful  preparation  of  a  favourite  dish  with 
which  she  had  purposed  to  surprise  her  husband. 

"It  will  be  ready  in  a  few  minutes,"  said  Mrs.  Win 
kleman.  "  The  fire  hasn't  burned  freely  this  morning." 

"  If  it  isn't  one  thing,  it  is  another,"  growled  the 
husband.  "I'm  getting  tired  of  this  irregularity. 
There'd  soon  be  no  breakfast  to  get,  if  I  were  always 
behind  time  in  business  matters." 

Mrs.  Winkleman  bent  lower  over  the  child  she  was 
dressing,  to  conceal  the  expression  of  her  face.  What 
a  sharp  pain  now  throbbed  through  her  temples  !  Mr. 
Winkleman  commenced  walking  the  floor  impatiently, 
little  imagining  that  every  jarring  footfall  was  like  a 
blow  on  the  sensitive,  aching  brain  of  his  wife. 

"Too  bad!  too  bad!"  he  had  just  ejaculated  when 
the  bell  rung. 

"At  last!"  he  muttered,  and  strode  towards  the 
breakfast-room.  The  children  followed  in  considerable 


ONLY   A   FEW   WORDS.  159 

disorder,  and  Mrs.  Winkleman,  after  hastily  arranging 
her  hair,  and  putting  on  a  morning  cap,  joined  them  at 
the  table.  It  took  some  moments  to  restore  order  among 
the  little  ones. 

The  dish  that  Mrs.  Winkleman  had  been  at  considcra 
ble  pains  to  provide  for  her  husband,  was  set  besido 
his  plate.  It  was  his  favourite  among  many,  and  hie 
wife  looked  for  a  pleased  recognition  thereof,  and  a 
lighting  up  of  his  clouded  brow.  But  he  did  not  seem 
even  to  notice  it.  After  supplying  the  children,  Mr. 
Winkleman  helped  himself  in  silence.  At  the  first 
mouthful  he  threw  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  pushed 
his  plate  from  him. 

"What's  the  matter?"  inquired  his  wife. 

"You  didn't  trust  Bridget  to  cook  this,  I  hope?"  was 
the  response. 

"What  ails  it?"  Mrs.  Winkleman's  eyes  were  filling 
with  tears. 

"  Oh  !  it's  of  no  consequence,"  answered  Mr.  Winkle 
man,  coldly;  "anything  will  do  for  me." 

"James!"  There  was  a  touching  sadness  blended 
with  rebuke  in  the  tones  of  his  wife ;  and,  as  she  uttered 
his  name,  tears  gushed  over  her  cheeks. 

Mr.  Winkleman  didn't  like  tears.  They  always 
rtnnoyed  him.  At  the  present  time,  he  was  in  no  mood 
to  bear  with  them.  So,  on  the  impulse  of  the  moment, 
he  arose  from  the  table,  and  taking  up  his  hat,  left  the 
house. 

Self-justification  was  tried,  though  not,  as  has  been 
Been,  with  complete  success.  The  calmer  grew  the  mind 
of  Mr.  Winkleman,  and  the  clearer  his  thoughts,  the 


160  ONLY   A   FEW    WORDS. 

less  satisfied  did  he  feel  with  the  part  he  had  taken  in 
the  morning's  drama.  By  an  inversion  of  thought,  not 
usual  among  men  of  his  temperament,  he  had  been  pre 
sented  with  a  vivid  realization  of  his  wife's  side  of  the 
question.  The  consequence  was,  that,  by  dinner-time, 
he  felt  a  good  deal  ashamed  of  himself,  and  grieved  for 
the  pain  he  knew  his  hasty  words  had  occasioned. 

It  was  in  this  better  state  of  mind  that  Mr.  Winkle- 
man  returned  home.  The  house  seemed  still  as  he 
entered.  As  he  proceeded  up  stairs,  he  heard  the 
children's  voices,  pitched  to  a  low  key,  in  the  nursery. 
He  listened,  but  could  not  hear  the  tones  of  his  wife. 
So  he  passed  into  the  front  chamber,  which  was  dark 
ened.  As  soon  as  he  could  see  clearly  in  the  feeble 
light,  he  perceived  that  his  wife  was  lying  on  the  bed. 
Her  eyes  were  closed,  and  her  thin  face  looked  so  pale 
and  death-like,  that  Mr.  Winkleman  felt  a  cold  shudder 
creep  through  his  heart.  Coming  to  the  bed-side,  he 
leaned  over  and  gazed  down  upon  her.  At  first,  he  was 
in  doubt  whether  she  really  breathed  or  not;  and  he 
felt  a  heavy  weight  removed  when  he  saw  that  her  chest 
rose  and  fell  in  feeble  respiration. 

"Mary !"     He  spoke  in  *».  low,  tender  voice. 

Instantly  the  fringed  pyolids  parted,  and  Mrs.  Winkle 
man  gazed  up  into  her  husband's  face  in  partial  bewil 
derment. 

Obeying  the  moment's  impulse,  Mr.  Winkleman  bent 
down  and  left  a  kiss  upon  her  pale  lips.  As  if  moved 
by  an  electric  thrill,  the  wife's  arms  were  flung  around 
the  husband's  neck. 


ONLY  A   FEW   WORDS.  161 

"I  am  sorry  to  find  you  so  ill,"  said  Mr.  Winkleman, 
in  a  voice  of  sympathy.  "  W/iat  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  Only  a  sick-headache,"  replied  Mrs.  Winkleman. 
"But  I've  had  a  good  sleep,  and  feel  better  now.  I 
didn't  know  it  was  so  late,"  she  added,  her  tone  changing 
slightly,  and  a  look  of  concern  coming  into  her  counte 
nance.  "  I'm  afraid  your  dinner  is  not  ready  ;"  and  she 
attempted  to  rise.  But  her  husband  bore  her  gently 
back  with  his  hand,  saying, 

"Never  mind  about  dinner.  It  will  come  in  good 
time.  If  yqu  feel  better,  lie  perfectly  quiet.  Have 
you  suffered  much  pain  ?" 

"Yes."  The  word  did  not  part  her  lips  sadly,  but 
came  with  a  softly  wreathing  smile.  Already  the  wan 
hue  of  her  cheeks  was  giving  place  to  a  warmer  tint, 
and  the  dull  eyes  brightening.  What  a  healing  power 
was  in  his  tender  tones  and  considerate  words !  And 
that  kiss — it  had  thrilled  along  every  nerve — it  had  been 
as  nectar  to  the  drooping  spirit.  "  But  I  feel  so  much 
better,  that  I  will  get  up,"  she  added,  now  rising  from 
her  pillow. 

And  Mrs.  Winkleman  was  entirely  free  from  pain. 
As  she  stepped  upon  the  carpet,  and  moved  across  the 
room,  it  was  with  a  firm  tread.  Every  muscle  was  elas 
tic,  and  the  blood  leaped  along  her  veins  with  a  new  an4 
healthier  impulse. 

Ho  trial  of  Mr.  Winkleman's  patience,  in  a  late  din 
ner,  was  in  store  for  him.  In  a  few  minutes  the  bell 
summoned  the  family;  and  he  took  his  place  at  the  table 
eo  tranquil  in  mind,  that  he  almost  wondered  at  the 
n 


162  ONLY   A   FEW   WCRDS. 

change  in  his  feelings.  How  different  was  the  scene 
from  that  presented  at  the  morning  meal ! 

And  was  there  power  in  a  few  simple  words  to  effect 
BO  great  a  change  as  this !  Yes,  in  simple  words,  fra 
grant  with  the  odours  of  kindness. 

A  few  gleams  of  light  shone  into  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Winkleman,  as  he  returned  musing  to  his  office,  and  ho 
saw  that  he  was  often  to  blame  for  the  clouds  that 
darkened  so  often  over  the  sky  of  home. 

"  Mary  is  foolish,"  he  said,  in  partial  self-justification, 
"  to  take  my  hasty  words  so  much  to  heart.  I  speak 
often  without  meaning  half  what  I  say.  She  ought  to 
know  me  better.  And  yet,"  he  added,  as  his  step 
became  slower,  for  he  was  thinking  closer  than  usual, 
"  it  may  be  easier  for  me  to  choose  my  words  more  care 
fully,  and  to  repress  the  unkindness  of  tone  that  gives 
them  a  double  force,  than  for  her  to  help  feeling  pain  at 
their  utterance." 

Right,  Mr.  Winkleman !  That  is  the  common  sense 
of  the  whole  matter.  It  is  easier  to  strike,  than  to  help 
feeling  or  showing  signs  of  pain,  under  the  infliction  of 
a  blow.  Look  well  to  your  words,  all  ye  members  of  a 
home  circle.  And  especially  look  well  to  your  words, 
ye  whose  words  have  the  most  weight,  and  fall,  if  dealt 
in  passion,  with  the  heaviest  force. 


THE  TWO  HOMES. 

Two  men,  on  their  way  home,  met  at  a  street  crossing, 
and  then  walked  on  together.  They  were  neighbours, 
and  friends. 

"  This  has  heen  a  very  hard  day,"  said  Mr.  Freeman, 
in  a  gloomy  voice. 

"A  very  hard  day,"  echoed,  almost  sepulchrally,  Mr. 
Walcott.  "Little  or  no  cash  coming  in — payments 
heavy — money  scarce,  and  at  ruinous  rates.  What  is 
to  become  of  us?" 

" Heaven  only  knows,"  answered  Mr.  Freeman.  "For 
my  part,  I  see  no  light  ahead.  Every  day  come  new 
reports  of  failures ;  every  day  confidence  diminishes ; 
every  day  some  prop  that  we  leaned  upon  is  taken 
away." 

"  Many  think  we  are  at  the  worst,"  said  Mr.  Walcott. 

"  And  others,  that  we  have  scarcely  seen  the  begin 
ning  of  the  end,"  returned  the  neighbour. 

And  so,  as  they  walked  homeward,  they  discouraged 
each  other,  and  made  darker  the  clouds  that  obscured 
their  whole  horizon. 

"  Good  evening,"  was  at  last  said,  hurriedly;  and  the 
two  men  passed  into  their  homes. 

Mr.  Walcott  entered  the  room,  where  his  wife  and 
children  were  gathered,  and  without  speaking  to  any 
one,  seated  himself  in  a  chair,  and  leaning  his  head 
Lack,  closed  his  eyes.  His  countenance  wore  a  sad, 
weary,  exhausted  look.  He  had  been  seated  thus  for 


164  THE   TWO   HOMES. 

only  a  few  minutes,  when  his  wife  said,  in  a  fretful 
voice, 

"  More  trouble  again." 

"  What's  the  matter  now?"  asked  Mr.  Walcott,  almost 
Starting. 

"  John  has  been  sent  home  from  school." 

"What!"  Mr.  Walcott  partly  arose  from  his  chair. 

"  He's  been  suspended  for  bad  conduct." 

"  0  dear  !"  groaned  Mr.  Walcott— "Where  is  he  ?" 

"  Up  in  his  room,  f  sent  him  there  as  soon  as  he 
came  home.  You'll  have  to  do  something  with  him. 
He'll  be  ruined  if  he  goes  on  in  this  way.  I'm  out  of 
all  heart  Avith  him." 

Mr.  Walcott,  excited  as  much  by  the  manner  in  which 
his  wife  conveyed  unpleasant  information,  as  by  the  in 
formation  itself,  started  up,  under  the  blind  impulse  of 
the  moment,  and  going  to  the  room  where  John  had 
been  sent  on  coming  home  from  school,  punished  the 
boy  severely,  and  this  without  listening  to  the  explana 
tions  which  the  poor  child  tried  to  make  him  hear. 

"Father,"  said  the  boy,  with  forced  calmness,  after 
the  cruel  stripes  had  ceased — "  I  wasn't  to  blame ;  and 
if  you  will  go  with  me  to  the  teacher,  I  can  prove  my 
self  innocent." 

Mr.  Walcott  had  never  known  his  son  to  tell  an  un 
truth  ;  and  the  words  smote  with  rebuke  upon  his  heart. 

"  Very  well — we  will  see  about  that,"  he  answered, 
with  forced  sternness,  and  leaving  the  room  he  went 
down  stairs,  feeling  much  worse  than  when  he  went  up. 
Again  he  seated  himself  in  his  large  chair,  and  again 
leaned  back  his  weary  head,  and  closed  his  heavy  eye- 


THE   TWO    HOMES.  165 

lids.  Sadder  was  his  face  than  before.  As  be  sat  thus, 
his  oldest  daughter,  in  her  sixteenth  year,  came  and 
stood  by  him.  She  held  a  paper  in  her  hand — 

"  Father, — "  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Here's  my  quarter  bill.  It's  twenty  dollars.  Can't 
I  have  the  money  to  take  to  school  with  me  in  the 
morning  ?" 

"  I'm  afraid  not,"  answered  Mr.  Walcott,  half  sadly. 

"Nearly  all  the  girls  will  bring  in  their  money  to 
morrow  ;  and  it  mortifies  me  to  be  behind  the  others." 
The  daughter  spoke  fretfully.  Mr.  Walcott  waved  her 
aside  with  his  hand,  and  she  went  off  muttering  and 
pouting. 

"  It  is  mortifying,"  spoke  up  Mrs.  Walcott,  a  little 
sharply;  "and  I  don't  wonder  that  Helen  feels  unplea 
santly  about  it.  The  bill  has  to  be  paid,  and  I  don't 
see  why  it  may  not  be  done  as  well  first  as  last." 

To  this  Mr.  Walcott  made  no  answer.  The  words 
but  added  another  pressure  to  the  heavy  burden  under 
which  he  was  already  staggering.  After  a  silence  of 
some  moments,  Mrs.  Walcott  said, 

"The  coal  is  all  gone." 

"  Impossible !"  Mr.  Walcott  raised  his  head,  and 
looked  incredulous.  "  I  laid  in  sixteen  tons." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  if  there  were  sixty  tons  instead  of 
sixteen  ;  it's  all  gone.  The  girls  had  a  time  of  it  to-day, 
to  scrape  up  enough  to  keep  the  nre  going." 

"  There's  been  a  shameful  waste  somewhere,"  said 
Mr.  Walcott  with  strong  emphasis,  starting  up,  and 
moving  about  the  room  with  a  very  disturbed  manner. 

"  So  you  always  say,  when  anything  is  out,"  answered 


THE   TWO   HOMES. 

Mrs.  Walcott  rather  tartly.  "  The  barrel  of  flour  13 
gone  also ;  but  I  suppose  you  have  done  your  part,  with 
the  rest,  in  using  it  up." 

Mr.  Walcott  returned  to  his  chair,  and  again  seating 
himself,  leaned  back  his  head  and  closed  his  eyes,  as  at 
frst.  How  sad,  arid  weary,  and  hopeless  he  felt!  The 
burdens  of  the  day  had  seemed  almost  too  heavy  for  him ; 
but  he  had  borne  up  bravely.  To  gather  strength  for  a 
renewed  struggle  with  adverse  circumstances^-  he  had 
come  home.  Alas !  that  the  process  of  exhaustion 
should  still  go  on.  That  where  only  strength  could  be 
looked  for,  no  strength  was  given. 

When  the  tea  bell  rung,  Mr.  Walcott  made  no  move 
mcnt  to  obey  the  summons. 

"  Come  to  supper,"  said  his  wife,  coldly. 

But  he  did  not  stir. 

<k  Ain't  you  coming  to  supper?"  she  called  to  him,  as 
she  was  leaving  the  room. 

"  I  don't  wish  anything  this  evening.  My  head  aches 
badly,"  he  answered. 

"  In  the  dumps  again,"  muttered  Mrs.  Walcott  to 
herself.  "  It's  as  much  as  one's  life  is  worth  to  ask  for 
money,  or  to  say  that  anything  is  wanted."  And  she 
kept  on  her  way  tc  the  dining-room.  When  she  re 
turned,  her  husband  was  still  sitting  where  she  had  left 
Lira. 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  a  cup  of  tea  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No  ;  I  don't  wish  anything." 

"What's  the  matter,  Mr.  Walcott?  What  do  you 
look  so  troubled  about,  as  if  you  hadn't  a  friend  in  the 
world?  What  have  I  done  to  you?" 


THE   TWO   HOMES.  167 

There  was  no  answer,  for  there  was  not  a  shade  of 
real  sympathy  in  the  voice  that  made  the  queries — but 
rather  a  querulous  dissatisfaction.  A  few  moments 
Mrs.  Walcott  stood  near  her  husband ;  but  as  he  did 
not  seem  inclined  to  answer  her  questions,  she  turned 
off  from  him,  and  resumed  the  employment  which  had 
been  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  the  tea  bell. 

The  whole  evening  passed  without  the  occurrence  of  a 
single  incident  that  gave  a  healthful  pulsation  to  the 
sick  heart  of  Mr.  Walcott.  No  thoughtful  kindness 
was  manifested  by  any  member  of  the  family ;  but,  on 
the  contrary,  a  narrow  regard  for  self,  and  a  looking  to 
him  only  to  supply  the  means  of  self-gratification. 

No  wonder,  from  the  pressure  which  was  on  him,  that 
Mr.  Walcott  felt  utterly  discouraged.  He  retired  early, 
and  sought  to  find  that  relief  from  mental  disquietude, 
in  sleep,  which  he  had  vainly  hoped  for  in  the  bosom  of 
his  family.  But  the  whole  night  passed  in  broken  slum 
ber,  and  disturbing  dreams.  From  the  cheerless  morn 
ing  meal,  at  which  he  was  reminded  of  the  quarter  bill 
that  must  be  paid,  of  the  coal  and  flour  that  were  out, 
and  of  the  necessity  of  supplying  Mrs.  Walcott's  empty 
purse,  he  went  forth  to  meet  the  difficulties  of  another 
day,  faint  at  heart,  and  almost  hopeless  of  success.  A 
confident  spirit,  sustained  by  home  affections,  would  have 
carried  him  through ;  but,  unsupported  as  he  was,  the 
burden  was  too  heavy  for  him,  and  he  sunk  under  it. 
The  day  that  opened  so  unpropitiously,  closed  upon 
him,  a  ruined  man ! 

Let  us  look  in,  for  a  few  moments,  upon  Mr.  Freeman, 


168  THE   TWO    HOMES. 

the  friend  and  neighbour  of  Mr.  Walcott.  He,  also, 
had  come  home,  weary,  'dispirited,  and  almost  sick.  The 
trials  of  the  day  had  been  unusually  severe ;  and  when 
he  looked  anxiously  forward  to  scan  the  future,  not  even 
a  gleam  of  light  was  seen  along  the  black  horizon. 

As  he  stepped  across  the  threshold  of  his  dwelling,  a 
pang  shot  through  his  heart ;  for  the  thought  came, 
"  How  slight  the  present  hold  upon  all  these  comforts  !" 
Not  for  himself,  but  for  his  wife  and  children,  was  the 
pain. 

"Father's  come!"  cried  a  glad  little  voice  on  the 
stairs,  the  moment  his  foot-fall  sounded  in  the  passage ; 
then  quick,  pattering  feet  were  heard — and  then  a  tiny 
form  was  springing  into  his  arms.  Before  reaching  the 
sitting-room  above,  Alice,  the  oldest  daughter,  was  by 
his  side,  her  arm  drawn  fondly  within  his,  and  her  loving 
eyes  lifted  to  his  face. 

"Are  you  not  late,  dear?"  It  was  the  gentle  voice 
of  Mrs.  Freeman. 

Mr.  Freeman  could  not  trust  himself  to  answer.  He 
was  too  deeply  troubled  in  spirit  to  Assume  at  the  mo 
ment  a  cheerful  tone,  and  he  had  no  wish  to  sadden  the 
hearts  that  loved  him,  by  letting  the  depression  from 
which  he  was  suffering,  become  too  clearly  apparent. 
But  the  eyes  of  Mrs.  Freeman  saw  quickly  below  the 
surface. 

"Are  you  not  well,  Robert?"  she  inquired,  tenderly, 
as  she  drew  his  large  arm-chair  towards  the  centre  of 
the  room. 

"A  little  headache,"  he  answered,  with  slight 
evasion. 


THE   TWO    HOMES  169 

Scarcely  "Was  Mr.  Freeman  seat  3,  ere  a  pair  of  little 
hands  were  busy  with  each  foot,  removing  gaiter  and 
shoe,  and  supplying  their  place  with  a  soft  slipper. 
There  was  not  one  in  the  household  who  did  not  feel 
happier  for  his  return,  nor  one  who  did  not  seek  to  ren 
der  him  some  kind  office. 

It  was  impossible  under  such  a  I  urst  of  heart-sunshine, 
for  the  spirit  of  Mr.  Freeman  lor,  g  to  remain  shrouded. 
Almost  imperceptibly  to  himself,  gloomy  thoughts  gave 
place  to  more  cheerful  ones,  and  by  the  time  tea  was 
ready,  he  had  half  forgotten  the  fears  which  had  so 
haunted  him  through  the  day.  But  they  could  not  be 
held  back  altogether,  and  their  existence  was  marked, 
during  the  evening,  by  an  unusual  silence  and  abstrac 
tion  of  mind.  This  was  observed  by  Mrs.  Freeman, 
who,  more  than  half  suspecting  the  cause,  kept  back 
from  her  husband  the  knowledge  of  certain  matters 
about  which  she  had  intended  to  speak  with  hi^a — for 
she  feared  they  would  add  to  his  mental  disquietude. 
During  the  evening,  she  gleaned  from  something  he 
said,  the  real  cause  of  his  changed  aspect.  At  once  her 
thoughts  commenced  running  in  a  new  channel.  By  a 
few  leading  remarks,  she  drew  her  husband  into  conver 
eation  on  the  subject  of  home  expenses,  and  the  propriety 
of  restriction  at  various  points.  Many  things  were  mu 
tually  pronounced  superfluous,  and  easily  to  be  dispensed 
with  ;  and  before  sleep  fell  soothingly  on  the  heavy 
eyelids  of  Mr.  Freeman  that  night,  an  entire  change  in 
their  style  of  living  had  been  determined  upon — a 
change  that  would  reduce  their  expenses  at  least  one- 
half. 


170  LOVE'S   FAIRY  RING. 

"  1  see  light  ahead,"  were  the  hopeful  words  of  Mr. 
Freeman,  as  he  resigned  himself  to  slumber. 

With  renewed  strength  of  mind  and  body,  and  a  con 
fident  spirit,  he  went  forth  on  the  next  day — a  day  that 
he  had  looked  forward  co  with  fear  and  trembling.  And 
it  was  only  through  this  renewed  strength  and  confident 
spirit,  that  he  was  able  to  overcome  the  difficulties  that 
loomed  up,  mountain  h  gh,  before  him.  Weak  despon 
dency  would  have  ruined  all.  Home  had  proved  his 
tower  of  strength — his  walled  city.  It  had  been  to  him 
as  the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  ^veary  land.  Strength 
ened  for  the  conflict,  he  had  gone  forth  again  into  the 
world,  and  conquered  in  the  struggle. 

"I  see  light  ahead"  gave  place  to  "The  morning 
brcaketh." 


LOVE'S  FAIRY  RING. 

WHILE  Titans  war  with  social  Jove, 

My  own  sweet  wife  and  I 
We  make  Elysium  in  our  love, 

And  let  the  world  go  l>y  ! 
Oh  !  never  hearts  beat  half  so  light 

With  crowned  Queen  or  King; ! 
Oh !  never  Avorld  was  half  so  bright 

As  is  our  fairy  ring, 

Dear  love  1 

Our  hallowed  fairy  ring. 

Our  world  of  empire  is  not  large, 
But  priceless  wealth  it  holds  ; 

A  little  heaven  links  marge  to  marge, 
But  what  rich  realms  it  folds  1 


COVE'S   FAIRY  RINO.  171 

And  clasping  all  from  outer  strife 

Sits  love  with  folded  wins, 
A-brood  o'er  dearer  life  in  life, 

Within  our  fairy  ring, 

Dear  love ! 

Our  hallowed  fairy  ring. 

Thou  leanest  thy  true  heart  on  mine, 

And  bravely  bearest  up ! 
Aye  mingling  love's  most  precious  wine 

In  life'8  most  bitter  cup  1 
And  evermore  the  circling  hours 

New  gifts  of  glory  bring  ; 
We"  live  and  love  like  happy  flowers 

All  in  our  fairy  ring, 

Dear  lore  1 

Our  hallowed  fairy  ring. 

We've  known  a  many  sorrows,  sweet! 

We've  wept  a  many  tears, 
And  often  trod  with  trembling  feet 

Our  pilgrimage  of  years. 
But  when  our  sky  grew  dark  and  wild 

All  closelier  did  we  cling; 
Clouds  broke  to  beauty  as  you  smiled, 

Peace  crowned  our  fairy  ring, 
Dear  love  1 

Our  hallowed  fairy  ring. 

Away,  grim  lords  of  murderdom; 

Away,  oh  !  Hate  and  Strife! 
Hence,  revellers,  reeling  drunken  from 
•  Your  feast  of  human  life! 
Heaven  shield  our  little  Goshen  round 

From  ills  that  with  them  spring, 
And  never  be  their  footsteps  found 

Within  our  fairy  ring, 

Dear  love  I 

Our  hallowed  fairy  ring. 


FANNIE'S  BRIDAL. 


PART  I. 

IT  was  to  be  a  quiet  wedding.  Fannie  would  have  it 
BO  ;  only  his  relations.  She,  poor  thing,  was  an  orphan, 
and  only  spirit-parents  could  hover  around  her  on  this 
great  era  of  her  life. 

The  bride  entered  the  large,  sunny  parlour,  leaning 
upon  the  arm  of  her  stately  husband.  Her  white  lace 
robe,  and  the  fleecy  veil  upon  her  head,  floated  cloud- 
like  around  her  fragile,  almost  child-like  form.  Peace 
hovered  like  a  white  dove  over  her  pure  brow,  and  a 
truthful  earnestness  dwelt  in  the  meek  brown  eyes. 

On  one  side  of  the  room  nearest  the  bay-windows, 

Where  the  sunset  kept  shining  and  shining  between 
The  old  hawthorn  blossoms  and  branches  so  green, 

Btood  the  eight  brothers  of  the  groom.  All  tall,  dark, 
stately  men,  pride  in  every  black  glancing  eye  ;  the  same 
curl  upon  every  finely  formed  lip,  harsh  upon  some, 
softer  upon  others,  yet  still  there,  tracing  the  same  blood 
through  all ;  the  same  in.herent  qualities  of  the  father 
transmitted  to  the  sons.  One  brother  was  a  type  of  all, 
differing  only  as  pictures  and  copies — in  the  shade  and 
touch. 

Upon  the  opposite  side  were  seated  the  five  sisters  of 
the  groom,  not  so  like  one  another.  One  had  blue  eyes, 
another  auburn  curls,  one  a  nose  retrouss^,  a  fourth 


FANNIE'S  BRIDAL.  173 

fresh  and  rosy,  a  fifth  round-faced ;  still  the  same  pride 
had  found  a  resting-place  on  some  fine  feature  of  each 
face,  and  stamped  it  with  the  seal  of  sisterhood.  The 
same  sap  ran  in  all  the  branches,  and  each  branch  put 
forth  the  same  leaves. 

The  thirteen  faces  had  been  stern  and  cold,  but  when 
their  youngest  brother  and  his  fair  bride  came  in,  affec 
tion  and  curiosity  softened  their  eyes,  as  for  the  first 
time  she  appeared  before  them.  Some  thought  her  too 
delicate,  others  too  young;  the  sisters,  that  Harwood 
could  have  looked  higher ;  but  all  felt  drawn  to  that 
shrinking  form  and  pale  countenance ;  each  hand  had  a 
warm  grasp  for  hers,  each  curling  lip  a  sweet  smile,  and 
the  manly  voices  softened  to  welcome  her  into  their  proud 
family.  Gracefully  she  received  all,  happy  and  joyful 
as  a  child.  But  the  first  shadow  fell  with  the  sunlight. 

"  Brothers  and  sisters,"  said  Harwood  pleadingly, 
"  upon  this  my  wedding  day  cast  aside  your  bitterness 
of  spirit  for  ever,  and  become  as  one " 

"Harwood!"  replied  quickly  the  elder  sister,  "upon 
this — this  happy  day,  we  hide  all  feelings  called  forth 
by  the  malice  and  unbrother-like  conduct  of  oi?r  brothers, 
but  only  for  the  present ;  we  can  never  become  recon 
ciled." 

A  silence  fell  upon  all ;  strange  as  it  may  seem,  the 
sisters  were  colder  and  sterner  than  the  brothers.  A 
frown  settled  upon  every  brow ;  the  lips  curled  with 
contempt.  A  storm  was  tossing  the  waves,  but  peace 
breathed  upon  the  waters  and  all  was  calm.  The  pre 
sence  of  the  bride  restrained  angry  expressions  of 
feeling. 


174  FANNIE'S  BRIDAL. 

This  was  the  first  knowledge  that  Fannie  had  of  the 
family  feud ;  tears  stood  in  her  soft  eyes,  and  the  rosy 
lips  trembled;  but  her  husband's  bright  glance,  and 
gentle  pressure  of  her  hand,  reassured  her.  There  was  no 
more  warmth  that  day — during  the  ceremony  and  the  brief 
stay  of  the  newly  married.  The  sisters  gathered  around 
the  young  wife,  and  the  brothers  around  Harwood. 
Occasional  words  were  interchanged  ;  but  there  reigned 
an  invisible  barrier,  that  seemed  to  say  "so  far  shalt 
thou  come,  but  no  farther." 

When  the  carriage  stood  at  the  door  and  Fannie  and 
Harwood  stepped  in,  she  stretched  out  her  pretty  hand 
and  beckoned  to  the  elder  brother  and  sister;  they 
approached;  she  took  a  hand  of  each,  saying  in  a 
trembling  voice : 

"  You  both  breathe  the  same  air ;  the  same  beautiful 
sunlight  shines  upon  you ;  you  pray  to  the  same  God, 
both  say  '  forgive  us  our  trespasses  as  we  forgive  them 
that  trespass  against  us.'  Be  examples  for  those 
younger — let  me  join  your  hands — "  But  the  sister, 
with  a  frown,  threw  aside  the  little  hand  rudely,  the 
brother  pressed  the  one  he  held,  but  laughed  maliciously. 
The  carriage  drove  on,  and  the  fair  head  rested  sobbing 
upon  the  shoulder  of  her  husband.  Sadly  did  he  relate 
to  her  the  family  feud,  a  quarrel  of  ten  years'  standing ; 
sisters  against  brothers,  resting  on  a  belief  of  unfairness 
in  the  disposition  of  the  will  of  a  relation.  The  sisters 
passed  the  brothers  upon  the  street  without  speaking, 
refused  them  admittance  to  their  house.  Harwood  being 
the  youngest,  was  too  young  to  take  part  in  the  quarrel, 
and  had  never  been  expected  to  do  so. 


FANNIE'S  BRIDAL.  175 

Poor  Fannie  wept  bitterly ;  but  tears  more  bitter  yet 
were  in  store  for  her. 


PART  II. 

Upon  her  return  from  the  bridal  tour,  no  sooner  was 
Fannie  settled  in  her  new  home,  than  the  family  feud 
endeavoured  to  draw  her  from  her  quiet  course,  to  take 
part  for  or  against.  Numberless  were  the  grievances 
related  to  her.  All  that  could  be  said  or  done,  to  con 
vince  her  that  the  sisters  were  "sinned  against  instead- 
of  sinning,"  were  brought  forward. 

"  Well,  Fannie,"  said  the  elder  brother,  one  day,  "  I 
met  my  immaculate  elder  sister,  just  coming  out  of  your 
door.  "Has  she  been  giving  you  a  catalogue  of  fraternal 
sins  ?  She  would  not  speak  to  me.  She  carries  her 
head  high.  It  maddens  me  to  think  how  contemptuously 
we  are  treated,  and  being  food  for  talk  beside." 

Fannie  hesitated  ;  she  could  not  reply,  for  Jessie  had 
been  venting  a  fit  of  ill  humour  upon  him,  and  it  was 
only  adding  fuel  to  the  fire,  to  repeat. 

"  Say,  Fannie,  what  did  the  old  maid  say  ?  That  it 
was  a  pity  we  were  not  all  dead  ?'' 

"Oh!  hush,"  she  replied,  holding  up  her  hand  re 
provingly.  "  I  am  very  unhappy  at  your  continued  dis 
agreements.  If,"  she  continued,  timidly,  "you  would 
but  take  a  little  advice — I  know  I  am  yoang,  but " 

"Let  us  have  it,"  he  returned,  quickly,  turning  away 
from  the  pleading  eyes. 

"  You  will  not  be  angry  with  me  ?" 

"  No,  no ;  let  me  hear  !" 


176  FANNIE'S  BRIDAL.} 

"You  are  the  eldest;  your  example  is  followed  by 
the  seven  brothers ;  your  influence  with  them  is  great ; 
you  give  an  '  eye  for  an  eye,  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.' 
Jessie  and  the  others  may  have  a  foundation  for  their 
ill-will.  You  have  never  endeavoured  to  discover  what 
this  is.  Your  pride  took  offence,  and  you  say  to  your 
self  that  can  never  bend.  Was  this  right?" 

Her  voice  trembled,  her  head  drooped,  and  in  spite 
of  her  self-command,  she  burst  into  tears. 

"  Fannie  !  sister  Fannie  !" 

"  Don't  mind  me ;  I  am  weak,  nervous,  foolish.  I 
shall  soon  be  better ;  but  it  makes  me  so  very  unhappy 
to  see  you  all  at  enmity.  I  had  hoped,  when  I  came 
among  you,  to  have  been  the  olive  branch,  but " 

"Fannie!  dear  sister  Fannie!"  he  exclaimed,  walk 
ing  up  and  down  the  room,  "you  have  been — we  are 
fire-brands  plucked  from  the  burning.  You  have  said 
all  that  any  one  could  have  said ;  yes,  and  done  all 
that  could  be  done ;  never  repeated  any  malicious 
speech,  selected  all  the  wheat  that  could  be  culled  from 
the  chaff.  You  have  softened  my  obdurate  heart.  I 
have  done  wrong ;  you  have  shown  me  to  the  way  of 
return.  If  Jessie  will  come  forward  and  forgive  and 
forget,  then  will  I." 

But  Fannie  knew  that  it  was  not  so  easy  to  make 
Jessie  be  the  first  to  own  her  errors  and  forgive.  The 
brothers  had  done  much  to  make  the  division  wider,  in 
the  way  of  hints  and  malicious  whisperings ;  and  she 
continued  weeping  so  wildly  and  hysterically,  that  the 
eld(  r  brother  endeavoured  to  console  her,  and  was  glad 


FANNIE'S  BRIDAL.  177 

when  Harwood  came,  and  lifting  her  in  his  arms,  carried 
her  up  to  her  room. 

When  he  returned,  the  elder  brother-still  stood  by  the 
fire-place.  He  turned  and  spoke. 

"  Fannie  is  very  fragile  and  pale.     Is  she  not  well  ?" 

"  Not  very.  This  family  feud  troubles  her.  She  has 
taken  it  to  heart.  When  we  were  first  married,  she  told 
me  a  dozen  plans  she  had  made  for  your  reunion,  and 
made  me  a  party  to  them,  but  now " 

He  sighed ;  the  elder  brother  sighed  more  deeply ; 
both  were  silent ;  the  fire-light  leaped  up,  lighting  the 
room — a  fierce,  avenging  blaze ;  then  died  out,  and  all 
was  gloom.  Where  were  the  thoughts  of  that  elder 
brother  ?  They  were  wandering  among  the  graves  of 
the  past.  In  his  imagination,  new  ones  were  there  ;  the 
names  on  the  tomb-stones  were  familiar;  the  thirteen 
were  all  there ;  twelve  sleeping ;  his  the  only  restless, 
wandering  spirit.  Fannie  stood  before  him,  her  face 
pale  and  tearful.  She  pointed  to  the  graves,  and  said, 
sadly,  "  This  is  the  end  of  all  earthly  things."  That 
night  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  his  sister's  mansion ; 
but  gained  no  admittance. 


PART  III. 

The  anniversary  of  Fannie's  bridal  was  the  counter 
part  of  the  original.  Sunny  and  genial,  with  here  and 
there  a  white  cloud  floating  near  the  horizon,  denoting 
a  long  and  happy  married  life,  with  but  threatening 
troubles.  How  was  the  prophecy  realized  ?  Like  all 
riddles  of  earthly  solution,  to  the  contrary  ? 
12 


178  FANNIE'S  BRIDAL. 

The  eight  brothers,  with  faces  of  stern  grief  in  the 
same  old  corner,  side  by  side;  the  five  sisters  sobbing, 
tearful  and  quite  overwhelmed  with  sorrow,  sat  opposite. 
Their  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  same  pair.  Harwood 
knelt  beside  a  couch  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and 
there  lay  Fannie ;  but  how  changed !  They  had  all 
been  summoned  there,  to  see  that  new  sister  depart  for 
another  world;  to  see  the. young  breath  grow  fainter 
and  fainter ;  the  bright  eyes  close  for  ever  on  them  and 
their  love.  Oh !  mystery  of  Life  !  thee  we  can  know 
and  understand ;  but,  mystery  of  Death,  dark  and  fear 
ful,  only  thy  chosen  ones  can  comprehend  thee.  We 
•walk  to  the  verge  of  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death 
with  those  we  love ;  but  there  our  steps  are  stayed,  and 
we  look  into  the  black  void  with  wonder  and  despair. 
Oh  !  faith  !  if  ye  come  not  then  to  the  rescue,  that  death 
is  eternal. 

Thus  felt  the  thirteen ;  all  older,  care-worn,  world- 
weary,  standing  beside  the  mere  child-sister  of  the 
family,  whose  star  of  life  was  setting  from  their  view 
behind  an  impassable  mountain. 

The  sweet  face  was  calm,  but  a  hectic  flush  lay  upon 
the  cheek,  as  though  some  life-chord  still  bound  her  to 
earth. 

"My  child,"  said  the  old  white-haired  physician,  "if 
you  have  aught  to  say,  speak  now ;  when  you  will 
awaken  from  the  sleep  this  draught  will  produce,  it 
may  then  be  too  late." 

"  My  darling  Fannie,"  said  the  kneeling  Harwooi, 
"  for  my  sake  let  no  thoughts  of  earth  disturb  you  \  all 
will  be  well  if " 


FANNIE'S   BRIDAL.  179 

Hig  voice  was  broken.  He  bowed  his  head  upon  the 
wasted  hand  he  held,  and  wept. 

"All  will  be  well,"  she  said,  smiling  faintly.  "I 
feel  it  now.  Jessie,  and  you,  elder  brother,  come  near ; 
nearer  yet.  I  love  you  both,  love  you  all.  Having  no 
relatives  of  my  own,  my  husband's  are  doubly  mine. 
My  heart,  since  our  marriage-day,  has  been  living  in 
the  hope  of  your  reconciliation.  I  was  too  young ;  I 
undertook  too  much.  I  wept  when  my  health  began  to 
fail ;  I  did  not  then  know  that  God  was  giving  me  my 
wish.  I  would  have  died  to  have  seen  you  all  happy. 
He  has  heard  my  prayer ;  the  sacrifice  is  made ;  I  go 
happy.  Jessie,  my  dying  wish  is  to  see  you  once  more 
the  forgiving  girl  you  were,  when  you  knelt  with  your 
brothers  at  your  mother's  knee.  Oh  !  the  chain  of 
family  love  is  never  so  rudely  broken  but  it  can  be 
renewed.  Jessie,  the  young  lover,  who  died  in  his 
youth,  would  counsel  you  to  forgive.  The  beloved 
parent  would  whisper,  'love  thy  brother  as  thyself;' 

He  who  bore  the  cross  said  '  Father  forgive  them .' 

Jessie,  a  weak,  dying  girl  begs  you,  for  her  sake,  to  be 
true  to  yourself." 

Jessie  fell  upon  her  brother's  neck,  and  wept.  One 
universal  sob  arose  from  lip  to  lip.  Brothers  and  sisters, 
so  long  estranged,  rushed  into  each  other's  arms.  Some 
cried  aloud,  others'  tears  flowed  silently :  some  there 
were,  whose  calm  joys  betrayed  the  disquietude  of  long 
years  of  disunion.  They  were  all  recalled  by  Harwood'a 
voice. 

"  Fannie  !  Fannie  !     This  excitement  will  kill  her." 

Half  raised  in  the  bed,  her  cheeks  scarlet  and  eyes 


180  FANNIE'S  BRIDAL. 

glowing  with  perfect  delight,  the  sunlight  making  a  halo 
around  her  head,  was  the  young  wife.  She  drank  the 
draught  the  old  physician  gave  her,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  her  husband.  She  murmured, 

"  '  Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'  " 
With  a  sigh  she  dropped  back  upon  the  pillow ;  the 
eyes  closed,  the  face  became  waxen  white.  Soon,  those 
who  watched  could  not  tell  her  slumber  from  the  sleep 
of  death.  Silence  stole  on  tiptoe  through  the  room, 
with  her  finger  on  her  lip — 

While  the  sunset  kept  shining  and  shining  between 
The  old  hawthorn  blossoms  and  branches  so  green. 


PART  IV. 

Day  was  dawning  in  the  watch  room  ;  the  lamp  was 
dying  away,  the  thirteen  with  pale  expectant  faces,  now 
shadowed  by  fear,  now  lighted  with  hope,  were  motion 
less.  With  his  face  bowed  upon  his  arms,  Harwood  had 
neither  looked  up  nor  spoken  since  Fannie  slept.  The 
old  clock  had  struck  each  hour  from  the  dial  of  time 
into  the  abyss  of  the  past.  Never  before  had  time 
seemed  to  them  so  precious,  worth  so  much. 

The  physician  with  his  fingers  upon  the  patient's  pulse 
had  sat  all  night ;  once  he  placed  his  hand  over  her 
mouth,  and  rising  with  a  puzzled  look,  walked  to  the 
window  and  thrust  his  head  into  the  vines ;  then  draw 
ing  his  hand  over  his  eyes,  he  resumed  his  place,  and 
all  was  silent  again,  save  the  clock  with  its  monotonous 
tick,  tick,  heating  as  calmly  as  though  human  passions 


FANNIE'S  BRIDAL.  181 

were  trifles,  and  the  passing  away  of  a  soul  from  earth, 
only  the  filling  of  the  niches  of  eternity. 

The  sun  arose,  and  a  little  bird  alighting  on  a  spray 
near  the  window,  poured  a  flood  of  melody  into  the 
room.  The  sleeper  smiled ;  the  doctor  could  have 
sworn  it  was  so.  Her  hreath  comes  more  quickly,  you 
could  see  it  now,  fluttering  between  her  lips  ;  she  opened 
her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  Harwood  ;  he  took  her  hand 
and  gave  her  the  cordial  prepared  by  the  physician. 

"  She  is  saved,"  was  telegraphed  through  the  apart 
ment.  The  brothers  prepared  to  go  to  their  duties. 
The  sisters  divided,  part  to  go  home,  the  rest  to  stay 
and  watch  Fannie.  Harwood,  with  a  radiant  yet  anxious 
face,  could  not  be  persuaded  to  lie  down,  but  still  held 
the  little  hand  and  counted  the  life  beats  of  her  heart. 

"  Ah !  well !"  said  the  old  doctor  to  the  elder  brother, 
as  he  buttoned  his  coat  and  pressed  his  hat  down  upon 
his  head.  "  Well ;  there  was  one  great  doubt  upon  my 
mind — in  spite  of  all  favourable  symptoms — she  was  too 
good  for  earth; — it  says  somewhere — and  it  kept  com 
ing  into  my  mind  all  the  night  long — *  Blessed  are  the 
peace-makers,  for  they  shall  be  called  the  children  of 
God.' " 


THE  LOVER  AND  THE  HUSBAND. 

IN  his  "  Dream  Life,"  Ik  Marvel  thus  pleasantly 
sketches  the  lover  and  the  husband : — 

You  grow  unusually  amiable  and  kind  ;  you  are  earnest 
in  your  search  of  friends ;  you  shake  hands  with  your 
office  boy,  as  if  he  were  your  second  cousin.  You  joke 
cheerfully  with  the  stout  washerwoman ;  and  give  her  a 
shilling  overchange,  and  insist  upon  her  keeping  it ;  and 
grow  quite  merry  at  the  recollection  of  it.  You  tap 
your  hackman  on  the  shoulder  very  familiarly,  and  tell 
him  he  is  a  capital  fellow ;  and  don't  allow  him  to  whip 
his  horses,  except  when  driving  to  the  post-office.  You 
even  ask  him  to  take  a  glass  of  beer  with  you  upon  some 
chilly  evening.  You  drink  to  the  health  of  his  wife. 
He  says  he  has  no  wife — whereupon  you  think  him  a 
rery  miserable  man ;  and  give  him  a  dollar,  by  way  of 
jonsolation. 

You  think  all  the  editorials  in  the  morning  papers  are 
remarkably  well-written, — whether  upon  your  side  or 
upon  another.  You  think  the  stock-market  has  a  very 
cheerful  look, — with  Erie — of  which  you  are  a  large 
holder — down  to  seventy-five.  You  wonder  why  you 
never  admired  Mrs.  Hemans  before,  *  Stoddart,  or  any 
of  the  rest. 

You  give  a  pleasant  twirl  to  your  fingers,  as  you 
saunter  along  the  street ;  and  say — but  not  so  loud  as 
to  be  overheard — "  She  is  mine — she  is  mine  !" 

You  wonder  if  Frank  ever  loved  Nelly  one-half  as 


THE  LOVER? 


THE  LOVER  AND   THE  HUSBAND.  183 

well  as  you  love  Madge  ?  You  feel  quite  sure  he  never 
did.  You  can  hardly  conceive  how  it  is,  that  Madge 
has  not  been  seized  before  now  by  scores  of  enamoured 
men,  and  borne  off,  like  the  Sabine  women  in  Romish 
history.  You  chuckle  over  your  future,  like  a  boy  who 
has  found  a  guinea  in  groping  for  sixpences.  You  read 
over  the  marriage  service, — thinking  of  the  time  when 
you  will  take  Tier  hand,  and  slip  the  ring  upon  her  finger ; 
and  repeat  after  the  clergyman — "  for  richer — for  poorer, 
for  better — for  worse  !"  A  great  deal  of  "  worse"  there 
will  be  about  it,  you  think  ! 

Through  all,  your  heart  cleaves  to  that  sweet  image 
of  the  beloved  Madge,  as  light  cleaves  to  day.  The 
weeks  leap  with  a  bound;  and  the  months  only  grow 
long  when  you  approach  that  day  which  is  to  make  her 
yours.  There  are  no  flowers  rare  enough  to  make  bou 
quets  for  her ;  diamonds  are  too  dim  for  her  to  wear ; 
pearls  are  tame. 

And  after  marriage,  the  weeks  are  even  shorter 

than  before ;  you  wonder  why  on  earth  all  the  single 
men  in  the  world  do  not  rush  tumultuously  to  the  altar ; 
you  look  upon  them  all,  as  a  travelled  man  will  look 
upon  some  conceited  Dutch  boor,  who  has  never  been 
beyond  the  limits  of  his  cabbage-garden.  Married  men, 
on  the  contrary,  you  regard  as  fellow-voyagers;  and 
look  upon  their  wives — ugly  as  they  may  be — as  better 
than  none. 

You  blush  a  little  at  first  telling  your  butcher  whr.t 
"your  wife"  would  like;  you  bargain  with  the  grocer 
for  sugars  and  teas,  and  wonder  if  he  knotvs  that  you 
are  a  married  man?  You  practise  your  new  way.  of 


184         THE  LOVER  AND  THE  HUSBAND. 

talk  upon  your  office  boy :  you  tell  him  that  "  your  wife" 
expects  you  home  to  dinner ;  and  are  astonished  that  he 
-does  not  stare  to  hear  you  say  it ! 

You  wonder  if  the  people  in  the  omnibus  know  that 
Madge  and  you  are  just  married ;  and  if  the  driver 
knows  that  the  shilling  you  hand  to  him  is  for  "  self  and 
wife  ?"  You  wonder  if  anybody  was  ever  so  happy 
before,  or  ever  will  be  so  happy  again  ? 

You  enter  your  name  upon  the  hotel  books  as  "  Cla 
rence  and  Lady ;"  and  come  back  to  look  at  it, — 

wondering  if  anybody  else  has  noticed  it, — and  thinking 
that  it  looks  remarkably  well.  You  cannot  help  thinking 
that  every  third  man  you  meet  in  the  hall,  wishes  he 
possessed  your  wife ;  nor  do  you  think  it  very  sinful  in 
him  to  wish  it.  You  fear  it  is  placing  temptation  in  the 
way  of  covetous  men,  to  put  Madge's  little  gaiters  out 
side  the  chamber-door  at  night. 

Your  home,  when  it  is  entered,  is  just  what  it  should 
be — quiet,  small, — with  everything  she  wishes,  and 
nothing  more  than  she  wishes.  The  sun  strikes  it  in 
the  happiest  possible  way;  the  piano  is  the  sweetest 
toned  in  the  world ;  the  library  is  stocked  to  a  charm  ; 
and  Madge,  that  blessed  wife,  is  there — adorning  and 
giving  life  to  it  all.  To  think,  even,  of  her  possible 
death,  is  a  suffering  you  class  with  the  infernal  tortures 
of  the  Inquisition.  You  grow  twain  of  heart  and  of 
purpose.  Smiles  seem  made  for  marriage;  and  you 
wonder  how  you  ever  wore  them  before ! 


NELLIE. 

THERE  she  sat,  with  both  little  handa  covering  her 
face.  It  was  twilight,  and  beyond  the  little  finger 
glanced  a  watchful  eye  towards  the  door,  to  see  if  Theo 
dore  would  go.  She  didn't  think  he  would.  He  came 
back. 

"Is  the  little  child  crying?"  he  asked,  relentingly,  as 
he  took  the  pretty  fingers,  one  by  one,  away  from  the 
youthful  face,  hard  as  she  tried  to  keep  them  there.  At 
last  she  gave  up,  and  broke  into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  You  little  hypocrite !"  said  her  husband,  in  rather 
an  incensed  tone  of  voice — men  do  hate  to  be  gulled 
into  soothing  a  laughing  wife. 

"Well!  can't  I  go?"  pleaded  the  enchanting  little 
creature,  looking  up  into  his  eyes  so  beseechingly. 

"  Why,  Nellie,  it  isn't  becoming  for  you  to  go  without 
me." 

"  Yes,  it  is  !"  she  answered,  in  a  very  low  way,  as  if 
she  hardly  dared  say  it,  and  at  the  same  time  running 
her  forefinger  through  the  hem  of  her  silk  apron  "  May 
I  go?"  and  she  lifted  up  her  eyes  in  the  same  beseech 
ing  way  again. 

"  Why  are  you  so  anxious  to  go,  to-night?" 

"0,  because!" 

"  But  that  is  not  a  good  reason  !" 

"  Well,  I  want  to  dance  a  little!" 

"  Nellie,  I  can't  possibly  go  with  you,  to-night      You 


186  NELLIE. 

are  very  young — you  know  nothing  of  the  world  and  its 
malice — " 

"  But  I  can  go  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams,  next 
door." 

"  I  can't  consent  to  your  going  without  me,  little  pet." 

Nellie  put  her  apron  up  to  her  face,  and  actually  did 
succeed  in  squeezing  two  tears  into  her  eyes.  She  in 
stantly  dropped  her  apron  after  this  was  ace  -mplished, 
and  looked  reproachfully  into  her  husband's  face.  Sud 
denly  a  thought  darted  into  her  head.  "  When  will  you 
come  home?"  she  asked,  with  quiet  melancholy  of  man 
ner. 

"  I  fear  not  before  ten  or  eleven,  dear.  Good-bye  !  I 
am  late,  now !"  He  went  away,  and  Nellie  sat  down 
and  soliloquized. 

"  Business  !  old  business  !  If  there  is  anything  I  hate, 
beyond  all  human  expression,  it  is  this  business.  I  know 
it  was  never  intended  there  should  be  such  a  thing. 
Adam  and  Eve  were  put  right  in  a  garden,  and  that 
shows  that  it  was  meant  we  should  play  around,  and 
have  fun,  and  live  in  the  country,  and  cultivate  flowers 
and  vegetables  to  live  on.  I  have  always  felt  so,  and  I 
always  shall.  I  don't  know  that  I'd  be  so  particular 
about  living  in  the  country ;  but  the  playing  part,  that's 
what  I'm  particular  about.  If  we  lived  on  a  farm,  I 
suppose  Theodore  would  wear  cowhide  boots,  and  pants 
too  tight  and  short  for  him,  and  a  swallow-tailed  coat. 
I  declare  !  I'm  afraid  I  never  should  have  loved  him,  if 
I  had  seen  him  in  such  gear,  although  I  have  said  forty 
times  that  I  should  have  known  we  were  created  for  each 
other,  if  we  had  met  under  any  circumstances ;  but  I 


NELLIE.  18V 

didn't  think  what  a  difference  clothes  make !  Isn't  he  a 
magnificent-looking  man  !  Wouldn't  anybody  have  been 
glad  to  have  got  him  ?  1  think  it's  the  most  wonderful 
thing  in  the  world  how  he  ever  thought  of  such  a  little 
giddy  thing  as  I  am  !  Such  a  great  man,  and  so  much 
older  than  I  am  !  Thirty-two  years  old !  No  wonder 
he  knows  so  much  !  Well,  I  must  stop  thinking  of  this  ! 
*  To  be,  or  not  to  be,  that  is  the  question  !'  Shall  I  go, 
or  shall  I  not  ?  Would  he  be  very  mad  about  it,  or  would 
he  not  ?  Let  me  see  !  He  won't  be  home  before  ten  or 
eleven.  I  can  dress  and  go  with  Mrs.  Williams,  and 
then  Fred  shall  bring  me  home  before  ten  o'clock ;  and 
after  a  few-days,  some  time  when  Theodore  is  in  a  most 
delicious  humour,  and  perfectly  carried  away  with  my 
bewitchments,  I'll  gradually  disclose  the  matter  to  him, 
and  say  I'll  never  do  the  like  again,  and  it's  among  the 
things  of  the  past,  an  error  which  repentance  or  tears 
cannot  efface ;  but  the  painful  results  will  never  be  for 
gotten,  namely,  his  look  of  disapprobation.  I  wonder 
if  that  will  do !"  Nellie  broke  into  a  low,  gay  laugh. 
She  was  a  spoilt  child ;  from  her  cradle  she  had  been 
idolized,  and  taught  that  she  could  not  be  blamed  for 
anything.  But  she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and 
reflected.  That  day  she  had  received  a  note  from  a 
young  gentleman,  saying, 

"  DEAR  ELLEN  : —  Will  you  come  to  the  ball  to-night  ? 
I  have  not  seen  Alice  yet.  I  am  on  the  rack,  in  excru 
ciating  torture.  Your  family  and  your  husband  don't 
fancy  me,  but  you  have  known  me  from  childhood.  You 
ought  to  show  mercy,  rather  than  cruelty.  Will  you 
come?  FREDERICK  ORTON." 


188  NELLIE. 

Nellie  had  read  the  letter,  drowned  in  tears.  How 
would  she  have  felt,  if  her  family  had  been  so  unjustly 
prejudiced  against  Theodore  ?  Wouldn't  she  have  ex 
pected  some  help  from  dear  sister  Alice  ?  And  shouldn't 
she  help  Alice  in  her  extremity,  even  if  Theodore  should 
be  vexed  a  little  about  it  ?  Why  did  Theodore  hate  Fred 
Orton  ?  He  never  said  so ;  but  she  knew  he  didn't  like 
him.  Nellie  wrote  to  Mr.  Orton : 

"  POOR,  DEAR  FRED  : — I'll  come  to  the  ball  and 
speak  with  you,  if  I  can.  I'll  always  be  your  friend, 
even  if  my  own  flesh  and  blood  don't  do  you  justice.  If 
you  only  knew  hew  good  father  and  mother  really  are, 
and  that  they  have  heard  wrong  stories  about  you,  you 

wouldn't  mind  it.     Your  devoted  sister 

ELLEN." 

Nellie,  dressed  in  white,  looked  like  a  veritable  little 
angel,  and  went  to  the  ball  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Williams. 
She  spoke  with  Fred,  danced  with  him,  took  a  letter  for 
Alice,  and  told  him  how  her  precious  sister  was  almost 
dying  of  a  broken .  heart.  Then,  thinking  she  had 
spoken  rather  strongly,  she  added :  "  You  know  she 
feels  so  some  of  the  time."  When  Fred  came  the 
second  time  to  ask  Nellie  to  dance,  she  thought  his 
motion  was  slightly  wavering.  She  attributed  it  to  the 
agitation  of  his  heart  on  hearing  about  Alice,  and  he 
led  her  out  on  the  floor.  His  breath  was  tinctured  with 
brandy.  Nellie  grew  white,  and  begged  him  to  take  her 
back  to  her  seat.  He  laughingly,  but  positively  refused. 
"Good  gracious  !"  she  mentally  ejaculated,  "I  shall  d  e 
with  shame  to  be  dancing  with  a  drunken  man,  an  I 
Theodore  not  here !  I  never  should  have  believed  ti  * 


NELLIE.  1 89 

stories  about  Fred,  if  I  hadn't  been  convinced  with  my 
own  eyes  and  nose.  Oh !  what  will  Theodore  say  to 
me  ?  Oh  !  if  I  had  only  done  as  he  advised.  If  I  had 
stayed  at  home — oh !  I  am  so  sorry  I  came  !  Shall  I 
ever  be  able  to  tell  Theodore  ?  Suppose  it  should  make 
trouble  between  us.  Oh  !  I  know  now  that  I  am  such  a 
miserable,  wilful,  perverse  mortal.  I  was  born  to 
trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward  I"  Nellie  besought  Mr. 
Williams  to  convey  her  home,  the  instant  her  agonizing 
dance  was  over.  He  did  so.  She  entered  the  parlour 
with  beating  heart,  with  green  veil  on  her  head,  with 
crape  shawl  thrown  around  her  pretty  figure.  Theodore 
sat  there. 

"  Oh !"  she  exclaimed,  clasping  her  hands  with  a 
start,  and  then  standing  as  motionless  as  if  she  had  been 
shot.  Theodore  glared  at  her  with  a  pale  face,  set  lips, 
and  flashing  eyes.  She  said,  with  quivering  lip,  "  I 
shall  die,  if  you  are  going  to  look  at  me  that  way  long ! 
Oh,  dear  !  I'm  so  miserable  !  I'm  always  getting  my 
own  head  snapt  off  to  accommodate  other  people." 

"  You  have  not  injured  yourself  by  accommodating 
me  !"  responded  a  deep,  ferocious  voice. 

"  It  wasn't  for  my  own  gratification  that  I  went, 
Theodore." 

"  For  whose  gratification  was  it,  madam  ?" — There 
was  a  shade  less  of  ferocity  in  the  tone. 

"  For  my  sister's  !" 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  why  you  wanted  to  go, 
madam  ?" 

"It  was  a  secret  between  Alice  and  me;  and  I  rather 
thought  you  liked  me,  and  I  might  impose  on  you,  as  I 


190  NELLIE. 

used  to  do  on  the  girls  at  school  that  liked  me.  I  don't 
mean  impose" — (Mr.  Grenly  fairly  banged  at  the  fire,) 
— "  I  mean—" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Ellen  Grenly?" 

"  I  thought  I  could  do  just  as  I  wished,  and  you'd 
make  up,  just  as  the  girls  used  to  do." 

"  You  thought  your  husband  was  like  a  girl,  did  you 
—did  you  ?" 

"Yes!  I  hoped  so!" 

"  Well,  madam,  you  will  soon  find  out  that  you  are 
married  to  a  man  who  is  not  to  be  trifled  with  in  this 
way." 

"  Oh,  gracious  Peter  !  what'll  you  do  with  me  ?" 

"  I'll  send  you  back  to  your  father's — to  your  pina 
fores — to  your  nursery — and  I'll  leave  the  country  for 
two  or  three  years,  until  a  divorce  can  be  obtained  for 
separation.  You  may  obtain  the  divorce,  madam.  I 
shall  never  want  to  hold  one  of  your  perfidious  sex  in 
my  arms  again.  Women  are  one  vast  bundle  of  folly." 

"I  am  a  vast  bundle  of  folly,"  sobbed  Nellie,  spasmod 
ically,  "  but  all  of  them  are  not — they're  not — I  can 
prove  it." 

"  I  desire  no  proof  from  a  woman  of  your — of  your— 
of  your  calibre." 

"  I  never  was  so  sorry  for  anything  in  my  life, 
Theodore.  If  you'll  forgive  me  this  time,  I'll  try  and 
make  you  such  a  good  wife.  I  won't  disregard  your 
advice,  nor  anything — nor — " 

Mrs.  Grenly  wiped  her  tears  on  the  corner  of  her 
shawl,  and  took  occasion  to  look  at  her  husband  as  she 
did  so. 


NELLIE.  191 

"  You  may  come  here,  madam  !" 

Madam  went,  knowing  the  victory  was  won ;  her  tears 
frere  dry  in  a  moment. 

"  Nellie  Grenly,  look  me  right  in  the  eyes !" 

"Yes!  there!" 

And  she  concentrated  her  glorious  laughing  eyes  upon 
him,  trying  very  hard  not  to  make  a  display  of  rebellious 
dimples.  He  began  to  doubt  whether  he  had  made  a 
judicious  request. 

"Now,  promise  me,"  he  said,  "that  as  long  as  you 
live,  you  never  will  do  anything  I  disapprove  of; 
because  it's  clear  you  are  a  perfect  baby." 

"  Oh !  I  can  see  myself  in  your  eyes,  just  as  plain  as 
day!" 

"  Promise  me." 

"  Did  you  know  that  your  eyes  were  not  all  blue,  but 
streaked — and  streaked.  What's  the  nature  of  the  eye, 
tell  me  ?  What  are  its  functions  ?  You  are  always 
talking  about  duty,  and  functions,  and  all  that." 

"Ellen!"  sternly. 

"What?"  very  sweetly.  "Oh!  I  guess  I'll  go  and 
get  a  drink." 

"  No  !  you  won't  stir  a  step,  until  you  solemnly  assure 
me  that  you  never  will  go  to  any  place  that  I  advise  you 
against." 

"  Oh !  I  hate  to  make  such  a  promise." 

"  The  reason  I  ask  it,  is  because  thousands  of  innocent 
women  have  been  misjudged  for  innocent  actions ;  and  I 
would  not  have  my  little  Nellie  misjudged,  when  she  ia 
pure  as  an  angel." 

"  I  promise !" 


192  A   HOME   IN   THE   HEART 

"  How  did  you  feel,  Nellie,  when  I  threatened  a 
separation  ?" 

"  I  felt  as  if  you  couldn't  be  coaxed  into  it." 

"  Get  down,  this  instant !" 

And  down  went  Nellie,  with  a  little  delicious  peal  of 
laughter.  A  profound  silence  of  four  minuses  continu 
ance. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  care  if  you  come  back." 

And  back  went  Nellie,  keeping  her  bewitching  little 
mouth  closed,  until  she  could  drop  her  face  upon  her 
husband's  shoulder,  and  laugh  to  her  heart's  content. 

"  Do  you  know,  Nellie,  that  some  men  would  have 
Bulked  a  month  over  your  conduct  to-night  ?  Haven't 
you  got  an  indulgent  husband  ?" 

"  That  I  have  !  You  don't  thrust  wrong  constructions 
on  my  folly  ;  and  that  is  the  very  reason  I  am  going  to 
try  and  be  as  good  and  innocent  as  you  think  me.  I 
feel  as  if  I  have  been  acting  so  wrongly." 


A  HOME  IN  THE  HEART. 

On  !  ask  not  a  home  in  the  mansions  of  pride, 

Where  marble  shines  out  in  the  pillars  and  walls ; 
Though  the  roof  be  of  gold,  it  is  brilliantly  cold, 

And  joy  may  not  be  found  in  its  torch-lighted  halls. 
But  seek  for  a  bosom  all  honest  and  true, 

Where  love  once  awakened  will  never  depart ; 
Turn,  turn  to  that  breast  like  the  dove  to  its  nest, 

And  you'll  find  there's  no  home  like  a  home  in  the  heart. 


A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL.        193 

Oh  1  link  but  one  spirit  that's  warmly  sincere, 

That  will  heighten  your  pleasure  and  solace  your  care; 
Tind  a  soul  you  may  trust  as  the  kind  and  the  just, 

And  be  sure  the  wide  world  holds  no  treasure  so  rare. 
Then  the  frowns  of  misfortune  may  shadow  our  lot, 

The  cheek-searing  tear-drops  of  sorrow  may  start, 
But  a  star  never  dim  sheds  a  halo  for  him 

Who  can  turn  for  repose  to  a  home  in  the  heart. 


A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

OUR  married  life  had  commenced,  and  this  was  HOME. 
As  I  opened  my  eyes  in  our  new  abode,  the  rays  of  the 
morning  sun  were  penetrating  the  muslin  curtains,  the 
air  was  filled  with  the  fragrance  of  mignionette,  and  in 
the  adjoining  room  I  heard  a  loved  voice  warbling  my 
favourite  air. 

On  the  different  articles  of  furniture  lay  a  hundred 
thi/igs  to  remind  me  of  the  change  which  had  taken 
place  in  my  mode  of  life.  There  lay  the  bouquet  of 
orange  flowers  worn  by  Marcelle  on  our  wedding  day; 
here  stood  her  work  basket ;  a  little  further  on,  and  my 
eye  fell  on  her  small  bookcase,  ornamented  with  her 
school  prizes  and  several  other  volumes,  recent  offerings 
from  myself.  Thus  all  my  surroundings  indicated  that 
I  was  no  longer  alone.  Till  then  in  my  independence  1 
had  merely  skirted  the  great  army  of  humanity,  measur 
ing  all  things  Avith  regard  to  my  own  strength  only.  I 
had  now  entered  its  ranks,  accompanied  by  a  fellow  tra 
veller,  whose  powers  and  feelings  must  be  consulted,  and 
13 


194  A  LEAF   FROM   A   FAiMILY   JOURNAL. 

whose  tenderness  must  be  equalled  by  the  protecting 
love  shed  around  her.  A  few  weeks  ago  I  should  have 
fallen  unnoticed  and  left  no  void,  henceforward  my  lot 
lay  bound  in  that  of  others.  I  had  taken  root  in  life, 
and  fo)  the  future  must  fortify  and  strengthen  myself 
for  the  protection  of  the  nests  which  would  in  time  be 
formed  beneath  my  shade. 

Sweet  sense  of  responsibility,  which  elevated  without 
alarming  me  !  What  had  Marcelle  and  I  to  fear  ?  Was 
not  our  departure  on  the  voyage  of  life  like  that  of 
Athenian  Theori  for  the  island  of  Delos,  sailing  to  the 
sound  of  harps  and  songs  while  crowned  with  flowers  ? 
Did  not  our  hearts  beat  responsive  to  the  chorus  of 
youth's  protecting  genii  ? 

Strength  said,  "What  matters  the  task?  Feel  you 
not  that  to  you  it  will  all  be  easy?  It  is  the  weak  alone 
who  weigh  the  burden.  Atlas  smiled,  though  he  bore 
the  world  on  his  shoulders." 

Faith  added,  "  Have  confidence,  and  the  mountains 
which  obstruct  your  path  shall  vanish  like  clouds ;  the 
sea  shall  bear  you  up,  and  the  rainbow  shall  become  a 
bridge  for  your  feet." 

Hope  whispered,  "  Behold,  before  you  lies  repose  after 
fatigue;  plenty  will  follow  after  scarcity.  On,  on,  for 
the  desert  leads  to  the  promised  land." 

And  lastly,  a  voice  more  fascinating  than  any,  added, 
u  Love  one  another ;  there  is  not  on  earth  a  surer  talis 
man  ;  it  is  the  '  Open  Sesame'  which  will  put  you  in  the 
possession  of  all  the  treasures  of  creation." 

Why  not  listen  to  these  sweet  assurances  ?  '•  Cherished 
companions  of  our  opening  career,  my  faith  in  you  is 


A   LEAF   FROM   A   FAMILY   JOURNAL.  195 

strong;  you,  who,  like  unto  the  military  music  which 
animates  the  soldier's  courage,  lead  us,  intoxicated  by 
your  melody,  on  to  the  battle  field  of  life."  What  can 
I  fear  from  a  life  through  which  I  shall  pass  with  Mar- 
cclle's  arm  entwined  in  mine  ?  The  sun  shines  on  the 
commencement  of  our  journey ;  forward  over  flowery 
fields,  by  hedges  alive  with  song,  through  ever-verdant 
forests  !  Let  one  horizon  succeed  another  !  The  day 
is  so  lovely,  and  the  night  yet  so  distant ! 

While  thus  occupied  with  my  newborn  happiness,  I 
had  risen  and  joined  Marcelle,  who  had  already  taken 
possession  of  her  domestic  kingdom. 

Everything  must  be  visited  with  her ;  her  precocious 
housewifery  must  be  admired ;  her  arrangements  must 
be  applauded.  First  she  showed  me  the  little  isalle  d 
manger,'  dedicated  to  the  meals  which  would  unite  us  in 
the  intervals  of  business :  to  this  cause  it  owed  the  air 
of  opulence  and  brightness  which  Marcelle  had  carefully 
strive.n  to  impart  to  it.  China,  silver,  and  glass,  sparkled 
on  the  shelves.  Here  lay  rich  fruits  half  hidden  in 
moss  ;  there,  stood  freshly-gathered  flowers — everything 
spoke  of  the  reign  of  grace  and  plenty.  From  thence 
we  passed  into  the  salon,  the  closed  curtains  of  which 
admitted  only  a  soft  and  subdued  light,  which  fell  on 
statuettes  ornamenting  the  consoles,  and  the  gilt  frames 
on  the  walls :  on  the  tables  lay  scattered  in  graceful 
negligence,  albums,  elegancies  of  papier  mache,  and 
carved  ivory ;  precious  nothings  which  had  constituted 
the  young  girl's  treasures.  At  the  farther  end,  the  folds 
of  a  heavy  curtain  concealed  the  bower,  sacred  to  the 
lady  of  the  castle.  Here  admittance  was  at  first  denied 


196  A  LEAP   FROM   A   FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  entreaty  be 
fore  the  drapery  was  raised  for  our  entrance. 

The  cabinet  was  lighted  by  a  small  window,  ovei 
which  hung  a  blind,  representing  a  gothic  casement  of 
painted  glass,  the  bright  colours  of  which  were  now  ren 
dered  more  brilliant  by  the  sunlight  which  streamed 
through.  The  principal  furniture  consisted  of  a  pretty 
lounging  chair  and  the  work  table,  near  which  I  had  so 
often  seen  Marcclle  seated  with  her  embroidery  when  I 
passed  under  her  aunt's  window.  Her  pretty  flower- 
stand,  gay  with  her  favourite  flowers,  occupied  the  win 
dow  in  which  hung  a  gilt-wire  cage,  the  melodious 
prison-house  of  her  pet  bird ;  and  lastly,  there  stood 
fronting  the  window,  the  bureau,  consecrated  since  her 
school-days,  to  her  intimate  correspondence. 

She  showed  it  to  me  with  an  almost  tearful  gravity. 
Everything  it  contained  was  a  relic,  or  souvenir.  That 
agate  inkstand  had  belonged  to  her  elder  sister,  who 
died  just  when  Marcelle  was  old  enough  to  know  and 
love  her;  this  mother-of-pearl  paper-cutter  was  a  pre 
sent  to  her  from  her  aunt,  before  she  became  her  adopted 
child ;  this  seal  had  belonged  to  her  father  !  She  half- 
opened  the  different  drawers,  for  me  to  peep  at  the  trea 
sures  they  contained.  In  one  were  the  letters  of  her 
dearest  school-friend,  now  married,  gone  abroad,  and 
therefore  lost  to  her ;  in  another,  were  family  papers ; 
lower  down,  her  certificates  for  the  performance  of  reli 
gious  obligations,  prizes  obtained,  and  examinations 
passed — the  young  girl's  humble  patent  of  nobility  ' — 
and  last  of  all,  in  the  most  secret  corner,  lay  some 
faded  flowers,  and  the  correspondence  which,  with  the 


A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL.        197 

consent  of  her  Aunt  Roubert,  we  had  interchanged  when 
absent  from  each  other. 

In  the  contents  of  this  bureau,  were  united  all  the 
touching  and  pleasing  reminiscences  of  her  former  life ; 
they  formed  Marcelle's  poetic  archives,  whither  she 
often  retired  in  her  hours  of  solitude.  Often,  on  my 
return  from  business,  I  found  her  here,  smiling,  and 
seemingly  perfumed  by  memories  of  the  past. 

Ah  !  thought  I,  why  have  not  men  also  some  spot 
thus  consecrated  to  like  holy  and  sweet  remembrances, 
a  sanctuary  replete  with  tokens  of  family  affection,  and 
relics  of  youth's  enthusiasm  ?  Our  ancestors,  in  their 
pride,  cut  out  of  the  granite  rock  safe  depositories  for 
the  proofs  of  their  empty  titles  and  long  pedigrees ;  is  it 
impossible  for  us  to  devote  some  obscure  corner  to  the 
annals  of  the  heart,  to  all  that  recalls  to  us  our  former 
noble  aspirations,  and  generous  hopes? 

Time  has  torn  from  the  walls  the  genealogical  trees 
of  noble  families,  but  he  has  left  space  for  those  of  the 
soul.  Let  us  seek  the  origin  of  our  decisions,  our  sym 
pathies,  our  repugnances,  and  our  hopes,  and  we  shall 
ever  find  that  they  spring  from  some  circumstance  of 
by-gone  days.  The  present  is  rooted  in  the  past.  Who 
has  met  by  chance  with  some  relic  of  earlier  years,  and 
has  not  been  touched  by  the  remembrances  called  forth? 
It  is  by  looking  back  to  the  starting-point,  that  we  can 
best  calculate  the  distance  traversed  ;  it  is  in  so  doing 
that  we  feel  either  pleasure  or  alarm.  Truly  happy  ia 
the  man  who,  after  gazing  on  the  portrait  of  his  youth, 
can  turn  towards  the  original  and  find  it  unimpaired  by 
age! 


198        A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

Those  reflections  were  interrupted,  by  the  sound  of 
my  father's  voice,  which  brought  us  out  of  Marcelle's 
retreat  to  welcome  him.  He  came  to  see  our  new  abode, 
and  add  his  satisfaction  to  our  happiness.  He  was  a 
gentle  stoic,  whose  courage  had  ever  served  as  a  bulwark 
to  the  weak,  and  whose  inflexibility  was  but  another 
name  for  entire  self-abnegation ;  he  was  indulgent  to 
all,  because  he  never  forgave  himself,  and  ever  veiled 
severity  in  gentleness.  His  wisdom  partook  neither  of 
arrogance  nor  passion  ;  it  descended  to  the  level  of  your 
comprehension,  and  while  pointing  upwards,  led  you  by 
the  hand,  and  guided  the  ascent.  It  was  a  mother  who 
instructed,  never  a  judge  who  condemned. 

Though  pleased  with  my  choice,  and  happy  at  seeing 
us  united,  he  had  nevertheless  refused  a  place  at  our 
fireside.  "  These  first  hours  of  youth  are  especially 
your  own,"  he  had  said  to  me  with  a  paternal  embrace ; 
"  an  old  man  would  throw  a  shadow  over  the  meridian 
sunshine  of  your  joy.  It  is  better  that  you  should 
regret  my  absence,  than  for  one  moment  feel  my  pre 
sence  a  restraint.  Besides,  solitude  is  necessary  to  you, 
as  well  as  to  me — for  you  to  talk  of  your  hopes  for  the 
future,  for  me  to  recall  remembrances  of  the  past. 
Some  time  hence,  when  my  strength  is  failing,  I  will 
come  to  you,  and  close  my  eyes  in  the  shadow  of  your 
prosperity." 

And  all  my  entreaties  had  been  unavailing:  the  sepa 
ration  was  unavoidable.  Now,  however,  Marcelle  sprang 
forward  to  meet  him,  and.  led  him  triumphantly  across 
the  room,  to  begin  a  re-examination  of  its  treasures. 
My  father  listened  to  all,  replied  to  all,  and  smiled  at 


A  LEAF   FROM   A   FAMILY  JOURNAL.  199 

all.  He  lent  himself  to  our  dreams  of  happiness,  paus 
ing  before  each  new  phase,  to  point  out  a  hope  over 
looked  before,  or  a  joy  forgotten.  While  thus  pleasantly 
occupied,  time  slipped  away  unnoticed,  until  Marcelle's 
aunt  arrived. 

Who  was  there  in  our  native  town  who  did  not  know 
Aunt  Roubert?  The  very  mention  of  her  name  was 
sufficient  to  make  one  gay.  Left  a  widow  in  early  life, 
and  in  involved  circumstances,  she  had,  by  dint  of 
activity,  order,  and  economy,  entirely  extricated  herself 
from  pecuniary  difficulty.  Of  her  might  be  said  with 
truth,  that  "  sa  part  d' esprit  lui  avait  ete  donnSe  en  lor, 
sens."  Taking  reality  for  her  guide,  she  had  followed 
in  the  beaten  track  of  life,  carefully  avoiding  the  many 
sharp  flints  which  caprice  scatters  in  the  way.  Always 
on  the  move,  alternately  setting  people  to  rights,  and 
grumbling  at  either  them  or  herself,  she  yet  found  time 
to  manage  well  her  own  affairs,  and  to  improve  those  of 
others — a  faculty  which  had  obtained  for  her  the  name 
of  "La  Femme  de  menage  de  la  Providence."  Vulgar 
in  appearance,  she  was  practical  in  the  extreme,  and 
results  generally  proved  her  in  the  right.  Her  nature 
was  made  up  of  the  prose  of  life,  but  prose  so  clear,  so 
consistent,  that,  but  for  its  simplicity,  it  would  have 
been  profound. 

Aunt  Roubert  arrived,  according  to  custom,  a  large 
umbrella  in  hand,  while  her  arm  was  loaded  with  an 
immense  horsehair  bag.  She  entered  the  little  cabinet, 
where  we  were  seated,  like  a  shower  of  hail: — "Here 
you  are  at  last,"  she  exclaimed,  "I  have  been  into 


200        A  LEAP  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

every  room  in  search  of  you.     Do  you  know,  my  dear, 
that  the  chests  of  linen  have  arrived  ?" 

"  Very  well,  I  will  go  and  see  after  it,"  said  Marcelle, 
who,  with  one  hand  in  my  father's,  and  the  other  in  mine, 
seemed  in  no  hurry  to  stir. 

"You  will  go  and  see  after  it,"  repeated  Aunt  Rou 
bert,  "that  will  be  very  useless,  for  you  will  find  no 
place  to  put  it  in ;  I  have  been  over  your  abode,  my 
poor  child,  and  instead  of  a  home  I  find  a  '  salon  de 
theatre:" 

"Why,  aunt,"  exclaimed  Marcelle,  "how  can  you  say 
so  ?  Remi  and  his  father  have  just  been  through  the 
rooms,  and  are  delighted  with  them  !" 

"  Don't  talk  of  men  and  housekeeping  in  the  same 
breath,"  replied  Madame,  in  her  most  peremptory  tone ; 
"see  that  they  are  provided  with  a  pair  of  snuffers  and 
a  bootjack,  and  they  will  not  discover  the  want  of  any 
thing  else  ;  but  I,  dear  friend,  know  what  a  house  should 
be.  In  entering  the  lobby  just  now,  I  looked  about  for 
a  hook,  on  which  to  hang  my  cloak,  and  could  find  no 
thing  but  flowering  stocks  !  My  dear,  flowers  form  the 
principal  part  of  your  furniture  !" 

Marcelle  endeavoured  to  protest  against  the  assertion 
by  enumerating  our  stock  of  valuables,  but  she  was  in 
terrupted  by  her  aunt. 

"  I  am  not  talking  of  what  you  have,  but  of  what  you 
have  not,"  she  said;  "I  certainly  saw  in  your  salon 
some  little  bronze  marmozettes." 

"  Marmozettes  !"  I  cried,  "you  mean  statuettes  of 
Schiller  and  Rousseau." 

"  Possibly,"  Aunt   Roubert   quietly   replied,   "  they 


A   LEAF   FROM   A   FAMILY  JOURNAL.  201 

may  at  a  push  serve  as  match  holders ;  but,  dear  friend, 
in  the  fire-place  of  your  office  below,  I  could  see  neither 
tongs  nor  shovel.  On  opening  the  sideboard,  I  found  a 
charming  little  silver-gilt  service,  but  no  soup  ladle,  so 
one  can  only  suppose  that  you  mean  to  live  on  sweet 
meats  ;  and  lastly,  though  the  '  salle  a  manger'  is  orna 
mented  with  beautifully  gilt  porcelain,  the  kitchen 
unfortunately  is  minus  both  roasting-jack  and  frying- 
pan  !  Good  heavens,  these  are  most  unromantic  details, 
are  they  not  ?"  added  she,  noticing  the  gesture  of  annoy 
ance  which  we  were  unable  altogether  to  repress ;  "  but 
as  you  will  be  obliged  to  descend  to  them  whenever  you 
want  a  roast  or  an  omelette,  it  would  perhaps  be  as  well 
to  provide  for  them." 

"  You  are  right !"  I  replied,  a  little  Qut  of  humour, 
for  I  had  noticed  Marcelle's  confusion,  "  but  such  omis 
sioris  are  easily  rectified  when  their  need  is  felt." 

"^That  is  to  say,  you  will  wait  until  bed-time  to  order 
the  mattrass,"  replied  Aunt  Roubert;  "well,  well,  my 
children,  as  you  will,  but  now  your  attendance  is  required 
on  your  linen,  which  awaits  you  in  the  lobby ;  I  suppose 
my  niece  does  not  propose  to  arrange  it  in  her  birdcage, 
or  flower-stand ;  can  she  show  me  the  place  destined 
for  it  ?" 

Marcelle  had  coloured  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and 
stood  twisting  and  untwisting  her  apron-string. 

"  Ah  well !  I  see  you  have  not  thought  of  that,"  said 
the  old  aunt ;  "  but  never  mind,  we  will  find  some  place 
to  put  it  in  after  breakfast ;  you  know  we  are  to  break 
fast  together." 


202  A  LEAF   FROM   A   FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

This  was  a  point  Marcello  had  not  forgotten,  and  she 
forthwith  led  the  way  to  her  breakfast-table. 

At  the  sight  of  it  my  father  gave  a  start  of  pleased 
surprise.  In  the  centre  stood  a  basket  of  fruit,  flowers, 
and  moss,  round  which  were  arranged  all  our  favourite 
dainties ;.  each  could  recognise  the  dish  prepared  to  suit 
his  taste.  After  having  given  a  rapid  glance  round, 
Madame  Roubert  cried  out, 

"  And  the  bread,  my  child  ?" 

Marcelle  uttered  a  cry  of  consternation. 

"  You  have  none,"  said  her  aunt,  quietly  ;  "  send  your 
servant  for  some."  Then  lowering  her  voice,  she  added, 
"  As  she  will  pass  by  my  door,  she  can  at  the  same  time 
tell  Baptiste  to  bring  the  large  easy-chair  for  your  father, 
and  I  hope  you  will  keep  it.  Your  gothic  chairs  are 
very  pretty  to  look  at,  but  when  one  is  old  or  invalided, 
what  one  likes  best  in  a  chair,  is  a  comfortable  seat." 

While  awaiting  the  servant's  return,  Madame  Roubert 
accompanied  Marcelle  in  a  tour  round  our  abode.  She 
pointed  out  what  had  been  forgotten,  remedied  the 
inconvenience  of  several  arrangements,  or  superseded 
them  with  better,  doing  it  all  with  the  utmost  cheerful 
simplicity.  Her  hints  never  bordered  on  criticisms ; 
<he  showed  the  error  without  astonishment  at  its  having 
been  committed,  and  without  priding  herself  on  its  dis 
covery. 

When  she  had  completed 'her  examination,  she  took 
her  niece  aside  with  her  accounts.  Marcelle  fetched 
the  little  rosewood  case  which  served  her  as  a  cash  box, 
and  sat  down  to  calculate  the  expenses  of  the  past  week. 
But  her  efforts  to  produce  a  satisfactory  balance,  seemed 


A  LEAP  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL.        203 

useless.  It  was  in  vain  that  she  added  and  subtracted, 
and  counted  piece  by  piece  her  remaining  money,  the 
deficit  never  varied.  Astounded  at  such  a  result,  and 
at  the  amount  spent,  she  began  to  examine  the  lock  of 
her  box,  and  to  ask  herself  how  its  contents' could  have 
so  rapidly  disappeared,  when  Aunt  Roubert  interrupted 
her. 

"  Take  care,"  she  said  in  one  of  her  most  serious 
tones.  "  See,  how  from  want  of  careful  account-keep 
ing  you  aheady  suspect  others ;  before  this  evening  is 
here  you  will  be  ready  to  accuse  them.  It  always  is  so. 
The  want  of  order  engenders  suspicion,  and  it  is  easier 
to  doubt  the  probity  of  others  than  one's  own  memory. 
No  lock  can  prevent  that,  my  child,  because  none  can 
shelter  you  from  the  results  of  your  own  miscalculations. 
There  is  no  safeguard  for  the  woman  at  the  head  of  a 
household,  like  a  housekeeping-book  which  serves  to 
warn  her  day  by  day,  and  bears  faithful  witness  at  the 
end  of  the  month.  I  have  brought  you  such  a  one  as 
your  uncle  used  to  give  me." 

She  drew  it  from  her  bag,  and  presented  it  to  Marcelle. 

It  was  an  account-book  bound  in  parchment,  the  cover 
of  which  was  separated  like  a  portfolio  into  three  pockets, 
destined  for  receipts,  bills,  and  memoranda.  The  book 
itself  was  divided  into  several  parts,  distinguished  one 
from  the  other  by  markers  corresponding  to  the  different 
species  of  expenditure,  so  that  a  glance  was  sufficient  to 
Form  an  estimate,  not  only  of  the  sum  total,  but  also  of 
:he  amount  of  expenditure,  in  each  separate  branch, 
the  whole  formed  a  domestic  budget  as  clear  as  it  was 
;'>mplete,  in  which  each  portion  of  the  government  sen- 


204        A  LEAF  FROM  A  FAMILY  JOURNAL. 

vice  bad  its  open  account  regulated  by  tbe  supreme 
comptroller. 

M.  Roubert,  who  had  been  during  his  life  a  species 
of  unknown  Franklin,  solely  occupied  in  the  endeavour 
to  make  business  and  opinions  agree  with  good  sense, 
had  written  above  each  chapter  a  borrowed  or  unpub 
lished  maxirn  to  serve  as  warning  to  its  possessor.  At 
the  beginning  of  the  book  the  following  words  were 
traced  in  red  ink  : — 

"  Economy  is  the  true  source  of  independence  and 
liberality." 

Farther  on,  at  the  head  of  the  division  destined  to 
expenses  of  the  table  : — 

"  A  wise  man  has  always  three  cooks,  who  season  the 
simplest  food:  Sobriety ,  Exercise,  and  Content." 

Above  the  chapter  devoted  to  benevolence: — 

"  Give  as  tJiou  hast  received." 

And  lastly,  on  the  page  destined  to  receive  the  amount 
of  each  month's  savings,  he  had  copied  this  saying  of  a 
Chinese  philosopher  : — 

"  Time  and  patience  convert  the  mulberry  leaf  into 
satin." 

After  having  given  us  time  to  look  over  the  book,  and 
read  its  wise  counsels,  Aunt  Roubert  explained  to  Mar- 
celle  the  particulars  of  its  use,  and  endeavoured  to 
initiate  her  in  domestic  book-keeping. 


TRIFLES. 

TRULY  hath  the  poet  said  that,  "  Trifles  swell  the  sum 
of  human  happiness  arid  woe."  Our  highest  and  holiest 
aspirations,  our  purest  and  warmest  affections,  are  fre 
quently  called  forth  by  what  in  itself  may  be  deemed  of 
trivial  importance.  The  fragrant  breath  of  a  flower, 
the  passing  song  of  the  merry  milk-maid,  a  soothing 
word  from  one  we  love,  will  often  change  the  whole  cur 
rent  of  our  thoughts  and  feelings,  and,  by  carrying  us 
back  to  the  days  of  childhood,  or  bringing  to  our  re 
membrance  some  innocent  and  happy  state  which  steals 
over  us  like  a  long-forgotten  dream,  will  dissipate  the 
clouds  of  sorrow,  and  even  the  still  deeper  shades  of  fal 
sity  and  evil. 

How  many  of  the  great  events  of  life  have  their  ori 
gin  in  trifles ;  how  many  deep,  heart-felt  sorrows  spring 
from  neglect  of  what  seemed  to  us  a  duty  of  little  or  no 
account — something  that  could  be  done  or  left  undone 
as  we  pleased ! 

Alas  !  this  is  a  dangerous  doctrine.  Let  us  endeavour 
to  impress  upon  the  minds  of  our  children  that  no  duty 
is  trifling ;  that  nothing  which  can  in  any  way  affect  the 
comfort  and  happiness  of  others  is  unimportant. 

The  happiness  of  domestic  life,  particularly  of  married 
life,  depends  almost  wholly  upon  strict  attention  to  tri 
fles.  Between  those  who  are  united  by  the  sacred  tie 
of  marriage,  nothing  should  be  deemed  trivial.  A  word, 
a  glance,  a  smile,  a  gentle  touch,  all  speak  volumes ; 


206  TRIFLES. 

and  the  human  heart  is  so  constituted  that  there  is  no 
joy  so  great,  no  sorrow  so  intense,  that  it  may  i.ot  be 
increased  or  mitigated  by  these  trifling  acts  of  sympathy 
from  one  we  love. 

Nearly  three  months  had  elapsed  since  the  papers 
had  duly  announced  to  the  public  that  Mary,  daughter 
of  Theodore  Melville,  had  become  the  bride  of  Arthur 
Hartwell ;  and  the  young  couple  had  returned  from 
a  short  bridal  tour,  and  were  now  quietly  settled  in  a 
pleasant  little  spot  which  was  endeared  to  Arthur  by 
having  been  the  home  of  his  youthful  days.  He  had 
been  left  an  orphan  at  an  early  age,  and  the  property 
had  passed  into  the  hands  of  strangers,  but  he  continued 
to  cherish  a  strong  attachment  for  the  "old  place,"  aa 
he  termed  it,  and  he  heard  with  joy,  some  few  montha 
before  his  marriage,  that  it  was  for  sale ;  and  without 
even  waiting  to  consult  his  intended  bride,  he  purchased 
it  for  their  future  home.  This  was  a  sad  disappointment 
to  Mary,  for  she  had  fixed  her  affections  upon  a  pretty 
romantic  little  cottage,  half  hid  by  trees  and  shrubbery, 
which  was  situated  v/ithin  two  minutes'  walk  of  her 
father's  house ;  and  which,  owing  to  the  death  of  the 
owner,  was  offered  for  sale  upon  very  favourable  terms. 
In  her  eyes  it  possessed  every  advantage,  and  as  she 
mentally  compared  it  with  the  old-fashioned  dwelling  of 
which  Arthur  had  become  the  possessor,  she  secretly 
conceived  a  strong  prejudice  against  the  spot  where  the 
duties  and  pleasures  of  the  new  sphere  which  she  was 
about  to  enter  were  to  commence  ;  particularly  as  it  was 
five  miles  distant  from  her  parents,  and  not  very  near  to 
any  of  her  early  friends. 


TRIFLES.  207 

Some  faint  attempts  were  made  to  induce  Arthur  to 
endeavour  to  get  released  from  his  bargain,  and  to  be 
come  the  purchaser  of  the  pretty  cottage,  but  in  vain. 
Ha  was  delighted  to  have  become  the  owner  of  what 
appeared  to  him  one  of  the  loveliest  spots  on  the  earth, 
and  assured  Mary  that  the  house  was  vastly  superior  to 
any  cottage,  advancing  so  many  good  reasons  for  this 
assertion,  and  describing  in  such  glowing  terms  the 
beauty  of  the  surrounding  scenery,  and  the  happiness 
they  should  enjoy,  that  she  could  not  help  sympathizing 
with  him,  although  her  dislike  to  her  future  home  re 
mained  unabated. 

The  first  few  weeks  of  her  residence  there  passed 
pleasantly  enough,  however.  All  was  new  and  delight 
ful.  The  grounds  about  the  house,  although  little  culti 
vated,  were  beautiful  in  the  wild  luxuriance  of  nature ; 
the  trees  were  loaded  with  rich  autumnal  fruita ;  and 
even  the  old-fashioned  mansion,  now  that  it  was  new 
painted,  and  the  interior  fitted  up  in  modern  style, 
assumed  a  more  favourable  aspect.  It  was  a  leisure 
time  with  Arthur,  and  he  was  ever  ready  to  accompany 
Mary  to  her  father's  ;  so  that  she  became  quite  reconciled 
to  the  distance,  and  even  thought  it  rather  an  advantage, 
as  it  was  such  a  pleasant  little  ride. 

But  as  the  season  advanced,  Arthur  became  more 
engrossed  with  business.  The  rides  became  less  fie- 
quent,  and  Mary,  accustomed  to  the  society  of  her 
mother  and  sister,  often  passed  lonely  days  in  her  new 
home,  and  her  dislike  to  it  in  some  degree  returned. 
Her  affection  for  her  husband,  however,  prevented  the 
expression  of  these  feelings,  and  she  endeavoured  to 


208  TRIFLES. 

forget  her  loneliness  in  attention  to  household  duties, 
reading,  and  music  ;  but  these  resources  would  sometimes 
fail. 

It  was  one  of  those  bright  afternoons  in  the  latter 
part  of  autumn,  when  the  sun  shines  forth  with  almost 
summer-like  warmth,  and  the  heart  is  gladdened  with 
the  departing  beauty  of  nature.  Mary  was  seated  alone 
in  her  pleasant  parlour,  with  her  books  and  her  work  by 
her  side. 

"  How  I  wish  Arthur  would  return  early  !"  she  said, 
aloud,  as  she  gazed  from  the  open  window.  •'  It  will  be 
such  a  lovely  evening.  We  could  have  an  early  tea, 
and  ride  over  to  father's  and  return  by  moonlight;  it 
would  be  delightful ;"  and  filled  with  this  idea,  she  really 
expected  her  husband,  although  it  still  wanted  two  hours 
of  the  usual  time  of  his  return ;  and  laying  aside  her 
•work,  began  to  make  some  preparations  for  the  evening 
meal.  She  was  interrupted  by  a  call  from  an  old  friend 
who  lived  nearly  two  miles  distant,  and,  intending  to 
pass  the  afternoon  at  Mr.  Melville's,  had  called  to  re 
quest  Mary  to  accompany  her. 

The  young  wife  was  in  considerable  perplexity.  She 
had  a  great  desire  to  go  to  her  father's,  but  she  was 
unwilling  to  have  Arthur  return  home  and  find  her 
absent ;  and  moreover,  she  felt  a  strong  impression  that 
he  would  himself  enjoy  the  ride  in  the  evening,  and 
would,  perhaps,  be  disappointed  if  she  were  not  at  home 
to  go  with  him.  So,  with  many  thanks  the  invitation 
was  declined,  the  visiter  departed,  and  Mary  returned 
with  a  light  heart  to  the  employment  which  the  visit  had 
interrupted. 


TRIFLES.  209 

Janet,  the  assistant  in  the  kitchen,  entered  into  the 
feelings  of  her  mistress,  and  hastened  to  assist  her  with 
cheerful  alacrity,  declaring  that  she  knew  "  Mr.  Hart- 
well  would  be  home  directly, — it  was  just  the  ever:  ing 
for  a  ride,"  &c.,  &c., — this  ebullition  of  her  feelings  leing 
partly  caused  by  sympathy  with  the  wishes  of  her  young 
mistress,  and  partly  by  her  own  desire  to  have  the  house 
to  herself  for  the  reception  of  some  particular  friends, 
who  had  promised  to  favour  her  with  their  company  that 
evening. 

But  alas  !  the  hopes  of  both  mistress  and  maid  were 
destined  to  be  disappointed.  The  usual  time  for  Arthur's 
return  passed  by,  and  still  he  did  not  appear  ;  and  it  was 
not  until  the  deepening  twilight  had  almost  given  place 
to  the  deeper  shades  of  evening,  that  Mary  heard  his 
well  known  step,  and  springing  from  the  sofa  where  she 
had  thrown  herself  after  a  weary  hour  of  watching,  she 
flew  to  the  door  to  greet  him. 

"  Oh,  Arthur !"  she  exclaimed,  forgetful  that  he  was 
quite  ignorant  of  all  that  had  been  passing  in  her  mind 
for  the  last  few  hours,  "  how  could  you  stay  so  late  ?  I 
have  waited  for  you  so  long,  and  watched  so  anxiously. 
It  is  quite  too  late  for  us  to  go  now." 

"  Go  where,  Mary  ?"  was  the  surprised  reply.  "  I  did 
not  recollect  that  we  were  to  go  anywhere  this  evening. 
1  know  I  am  rather  late  home,  but  business  must  be  at 
tended  to.  I  meant  to  have  told  you  not  to  expect  me 
at  the  usual  hour." 

This  was  too  bad.  To  think  that  she  had  refused 
Mrs.  Elmore's  kind  invitation,  and  had  passed  the  time 
in  gazing  anxiously  from  the  window,  when  she  might 
14 


210  TRIFLES. 

have  enjoyed  the  society  of  father,  mothei,  and  all  the 
dear  ones  at  home ;  and  now  to  find  that  Arthur  actually 
knew  that  he  should  not  return  till  late,  and  might  have 
saved  her  this  disappointment,  it  was  really  very  hard; 
and  Mary  turned  away  to  hide  the  starting  tears,  as  she 
replied, 

"  You  might  have  remembered  to  have  told  me  that 
you  should  not  he  home  till  dark,  Arthur,  and  then  I 
could  have  gone  with  Mrs.  Elmore.  She  called  to  ask 
me  to  ride  over  to  father's  with  her,  but  I  would  not  go, 
because  I  felt  so  sure  that  you  would  coine  home  early 
and  take  me  to  ride  yourself  this  pleasant  evening." 

"You  had  no  reason  to  expect  it,"  said  Arthur,  rather 
shortly,  for  he  felt  irritated  at  the  implied  reproach  of 
Mary's  words  and  manner,  and  for  the  first  time  since 
their  marriage,  the  husband  and  wife  seated  themselves 
at  the  table  with  unkind  feelings  busy  in  their  hearts. 
Mary  remained  quite  silent,  while  Arthur  vented  hia 
irritation  by  giving  the  table  an  impatient  jerk,  ex 
claiming, 

"I  really  wish  Janet  could  learn  to  set  a  table  straight ! 
I  believe  her  eyes  are  crooked." 

This  was  an  unfortunate  speech,  for  Mary,  in  her  de 
sire  to  expedite  Janet's  preparations  for  tea,  had  herself 
arranged  the  table ;  at  another  time  she  would  have 
made  a  laughing  reply,  but  just  now  she  did  not  feel  like 
joking,  and  the  remark  only  increased  the  weight  at  her 
heart. 

These  grievances  may  seem  very  trifling,  and  indeed 
they  are  so ;  but  our  subject  is  trifles,  and  if  the  reader 
will  examine  his  own  heart,  he  will  find  that  even  little 


TRIFLES.  211 

troubles  sometimes  produce  a  state  which  even  the  addi 
tion  of  a  feather's  weight  renders  insupportable. 

Thus  it  was  with  Mary.  She  made  an  ineffectual 
attempt  to  eat,  but  the  food  seemed  to  choke  her ;  and 
"rising  abruptly,  she  seated  herself  at  the  piano  and 
commenced  a  lively  tune  in  order  to  hide  her  real 
feelings. 

There  was  nothing  strange  in  this.  Arthur  frequently 
asked  her  to  play  to  him  when  he  felt  disposed  to  remain 
at  the  table  longer  than  she  did,  and  he  had  often  said 
that  he  liked  the  ancient  custom  of  having  music  at 
meals ;  but  this  evening  music  had  lost  its  charm ;  the 
lively  tune  was  not  in  unison  with  his  state  of  feeling, 
and  he  hastily  finished  his  supper  and  left  the  room. 
This  was  another  trial,  and  the  ready  tears  gushed  from 
Mary's  eyes  as  she  left  the  piano,  and  summoning  Janet 
to  remove  the  tea  things,  she  bade  her  tell  Mr.  Hartwell 
when  he  came  in,  that  she  had  a  bad  headache  and  had 
gone  to  her  own  room. 

Arthur  returned  from  his  short  walk  in  less  than  half 
an  hour,  quite  restored  to  good^  humour  by  the  soothing 
effects  of  the  lovely  evening,  and  somewhat  ashamed 
that  he  had  been  disturbed  by  so  trifling  a  cause. 

"Perhaps  Mary  would  like  to  take  a  walk,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  entered  the  house.  "  It  is  not  too  late 
for  that,  and  to-morrow  I  will  endeavour  to  take  the 
wished-for  ride." 

He  was  disappointed  when  Janet  delivered  the  mes 
sage,  and  going  up  stairs  opened  the  door  of  their  sleep 
ing  apartment ;  but  Mary's  eyes  were  closed,  and  fearful 
of  disturbing  her,  he  quietly  returned  to  the  parlour  a -id 


212  TRIFLES. 

endeavoured  to  amuse  himself  with  a  book  until  his  usual 
hour  of  going  to  rest. 

The  next  morning  all  seemed  as  usual ;  for  sleep  has 
a  renovating  power  on  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body, 
and  in  little  troubles  as  well  as  in  great. 

Husband  and  wife  spoke  affectionately  to  each  other, 
and  secretly  wondered  how  such  trifles  could  have  dis 
turbed  them ;  but  no  allusion  was  made  to  the  subject, 
for  the  very  reason  that  the  unpleasant  feeling  which 
had  arisen  between  them  had  sprung  from  so  trifling  a 
cause.  The  trouble  could  scarcely  be  defined,  and  there 
fore  they  judged  it  better  to  say  nothing  about  it.  In 
some  cases  this  is  well,  but,  generally,  it  is  better  to 
speak  openly  even  of  little  difficulties ;  especially  those 
which  may  arise  in  the  first  part  of  married  life,  as  this 
frankness  enables  husband  and  wife  to  gain  an  insight 
into  all  those  trifling  peculiarities  of  character  which 
each  may  possess,  and  on  attention  to  which,  much  of 
their  future  happiness  may  depend. 

Weeks  and  months  passed  on,  and,  apparently,  all 
was  going  happily  with  our  young  friends.  Mary  had 
become  more  accustomed  to  passing  some  hours  of  each 
day  alone,  and  her  solitude  was  frequently  enlivened  by 
a  visit  from  her  mother,  sister,  or  some  young  friend  of 
her  school-girl  days.  Arthur  still  appeared  devotedly 
attached  to  her,  and  she  certainly  returned  his  affection 
most  sincerely,  and  yet  both  felt  that  there  was  a  change. 
It  could  scarcely  be  defined,  and  no  cause  could  be 
assigned  for  it.  They  would  have  indignantly  rejected 
the  idea  that  they  loved  each  other  less  than  formerly, 
but  there  was  certainly  less  sympathy  between  them ; 


TRIFLES.  213 

they  were  not  so  closely  united  in  every  thought  and 
feeling  as  they  once  had  been.  No  unkind  words  had 
passed  on  either  side,  at  least  none  which  could  really 
be  regarded  as  such,  for  the  trifles  which  had  gradually 
produced  this  feeling  of  separation  were  almost  too 
insignificant  to  call  forth  absolute  unkindness ;  yet  still 
they  did  their  work  slowly  but  surely. 

Mary  was  the  petted  child  of  indulgent  parents 
Arthur  had  early  lost  both  father  and  mother,  and  his 
childhood  had  passed  with  but  little  of  the  genial  effects 
of  female  influence.  He  had  spent  most  of  his  time  at 
a  school  for  boys,  where,  although  his  intellect  was  well 
cultivated,  and  his  morals  strictly  attended  to,  there  was 
little  done  to  call  forth  those  warm  affections  of  which 
every  young  heart  is  susceptible.  And  as  he  grew  to 
manhood,  although  his  principles  were  excellent,  and 
his  feelings  warm  and  tender,  there  was  a  want  of  that 
kindliness  and  gentleness  of  manner,  and  above  all,  of 
that  peculiar  faculty  of  adapting  himself  to  the  wants 
of  a  female  heart,  which  would  not  have  existed  had  he 
been  blessed  with  the  care  of  a  mother,  or  the  affection 
ate  sympathy  of  a  sister. 

His  acquaintance  with  Mary  before  their  marriage 
had  been  of  short  duration,  and  these  traits  in  his  cha 
racter  had  passed  unobserved  during  the  excitement  of 
feeling  which  generally  marks  the  days  of  courtship ; 
but  as  this  state  passed  away,  and  his  usual  habits 
returned,  Mary's  sensitive  heart  was  often  wounded  by 
trifling  inattentions,  although  never  by  wilful  neglect. 
Arthur  was  fond  of  study,  and  in  his  leisure  hours  he 
would  sometimes  become  so  entirely  absorbed  in  some 


214  TRIFLES. 

favourite  author,  that  even  Mary's  presence  was  forgotten, 
and  the  evening  passed  away  without  any  effort  on  his 
part  to  cheer  her  evidently  drooping  spirits.  Not  that 
lie  was  really  selfish  :  it  was  mere  thoughtlessness,  and 
ignorance  of  those  attentions  which  a  woman's  heart 
demands.  If  Mary  had  requested  him  to  lay  aside  his 
graver  studies  and  read  aloud  in  some  work  interesting 
to  her,  or  pass  an  hour  in  cheerful  conversation,  or 
listening  to  music,  he  would  have  complied  without  hesi 
tation,  and,  indeed,  with  pleasure ;  hut  she  remained 
silent,  secretly  yearning  for  little  acts  of  kindness,  which 
never  entered  the  mind  of  her  husband.  Another  pecu 
liarity  which  gave  the  young  wife  much  pain,  was  that 
Arthur  never  or  very  rarely  uttered  words  of  commen 
dation  or  approval.  If  anything  was  wrong  he  noticed 
it  at  once,  and  requested  a  change ;  but  if  right,  he 
never  praised.  This  is  a  common  error,  and  it  is  a  great 
one.  Approval  from  those  we  love  is  as  refreshing  to 
the  human  heart  as  the  dew  to  the  fading  flower;  and 
to  a  woman's  heart  it  is  essential:  without  it  all  kindly 
affections  wither  away ;  the  softest,  most  delicate  feelings 
become  blunted  and  hard  ;  the  heart  no  longer  beats 
with  warm,  generous  emotions — it  is  cold,  palsied,  and 
dead. 

Even  in  the  most  trifling  details  of  domestic  life,  ap 
proval  is  encouraging  and  sweet.  The  weary  wife  and 
mother  who  has  passed  through  a  day  of  innumerable 
little  vexations  and  difficulties,  is  cheered  by  the  plea- 
Bant  smile  with  which  her  husband  takes  his  seat  at  the 
tea-table,  and  feels  new  life  as  she  listens  to  his  com- 


TRIFLES.  ,  215 

mcndations  of  some  favourite  dish  which  she  has  placed 
before  him. 

True,  it  is  but  a  trifle,  but  it  speaks  to  the  heart. 

We  will  give  our  readers  a  short  specimen  of  the  habit 
to  which  we  allude.  Breakfast  was  on  the  table,  and  a 
part  of  the  hot  cakes  and  smoking  ham  had  been  duly 
transferred  to  Arthur's  plate.  He  ate  sparingly,  and 
his  looks  plainly  showed  that  something  was  wrong. 
Presently  he  said — "  Mary,  dear,  I  think  you  must  look 
a  little  more  strictly  after  Janet.  She  grows  very 
careless ;  this  bread  is  decidedly  sour,  the  ham  is  half 
cooked,  and  worse  than  all,  breakfast  is  ten  minutes  too 
late." 

Mary's  quiet  reply,  that  she  would  "endeavour  to 
have  it  right  another  time,"  was  quite  satisfactory;  plea 
sant  remarks  followed,  and  Arthur  left  home  with  a 
cheerful  good  morning.  . 

Another  breakfast  time  arrived.  Mary's  own  personal 
attention  had  secured  sweet  bread,  and  she  had  risen 
half  an  hour  earlier  than  usual  to  insure  that  all  was 
done  properly  and  in  season. 

Punctually  the  well  prepared  dishes  were  placed  upon 
the  table,  again  Arthur's  plate  was  well  filled,  and,  to 
do  him  justice,  its  contents  were  eaten  with  keen  relish ; 
but  no  look  or  word  of  approval  was  given  to  show  that 
he  understood  and  appreciated  the  effort  which  had  been 
made  to  meet  his  wishes. 

All  was  right,  and  therefore  there  was  nothing  to  say. 
Co  some  this  might  have  been  satisfactory,  but  not  to 
Mary.  She  longed  for  a  word  or  smile  to  show  that  she 
had  given  pleasure, 


2 16  TRIFLES. 

But  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  all  these  petty  cau^e* 
of  complaint  were  on  one  side.  Arthur  often  felt  grieved 
and  somewhat  irritated  by  Mary's  altered  manner  or 
moody  silence,  showing  that  he  had  offended  in  ways 
unknown  to  himself;  and  there  were  also  times  when 
her  ridicule  of  his  somewhat  uncultivated  taste  grated 
harshly  on  his  feelings.  Her  continued  dislike  to  the 
"dear  old  place"  was  another  source  of  regret;  and 
before  the  first  year  of  married  life  had  expired,  feelings 
had  sometimes  been  busy  in  both  their  hearts  which  they 
would  have  shuddered  to  have  confessed  even  to  them 
selves. 

Winter  and  spring  had  passed  away,  and  summer  was 
again  present  with  its  birds  and  flowers.  Mary  was  in 
her  garden  one  lovely  afternoon  arranging  some  favour 
ite  plants,  when  her  attention  was  attracted  to  a  small 
cart  laden  with  some  strange  old-fashioned-looking  fur 
niture,  "which  had  stopped  at  their  gate.  She  at  first 
supposed  that  the  driver  wished  to  inquire  the  way,  but 
to  her  surprise  he  carefully  lifted  a  large  easy-chair,  co 
vered  with  leather  and  thickly  studded  with  brass  nails, 
from  the  wagon,  and  brought  it  toward  the  house,  bow 
ing  respectfully  as  he  approached  her,  and  inquiring 
where  she  wished  to  have  it  put. 

"There  is  some  mistake,"  said  Mary;  "these  things 
are  not  for  us." 

"  Mr.  Hartwcll  sent  them  here,  ma'am,"  was  the  re 
ply  ;  "and  here  is  a  bit  of  a  note  for  your  leddyship." 

Mary  received  the  proffered  slip  of  paper,  and  hastily 
read  the  following  lines  : — 

"  You  will  be  pleased,  dear  Mary,  to  find  that  I  have 


TRIFLES.  217 

at  length  discovered  the  purchaser  of  ray  mother's  easy- 
chair,  and  the  old  clock  which  formerly  stood  in  our 
family  sitting-room,  and  have  bought  them  of  him  for  a 
moderate  price.  They  are  valuable  to  me  as  mementos 
of  my  boyish  days,  and  you  will  value  them  for  my 
sake." 

But  Mary  had  a  great  dislike  to  old  clocks,  and 
leather-bottomed  chairs,  and  she  was  little  disposed  to 
value  them  even  for  Arthur's  sake.  She,  however, 
directed  the  man  where  to  place  them,  and  returned  to 
the  employment  which  he  had  interrupted.  Arthur's 
business  demanded  his  attention  until  a  late  hour  that 
evening,  and  he  had  said  when  he  left  home  that  he 
should  take  tea  in  the  city.  Mary  retired  to  rest  before 
his  return,  and  nothing  was  said  concerning  the  old  fur 
niture  until  the  following  morning. 

Indeed,  it  seemed  so  perfectly  worthless  to  Mary, 
that  the  recollection  of  it  had  passed  from  her  mind ; 
but  it  was  recalled  by  the  sudden  inquiry  of  her  husband 
as  he  finished  dressing  and  prepared  to  go  down  stairs. 

"  Oh,  Mary,  dear,  where  did  you  have  the  old  chair 
and  clock  placed  ?  Was  I  not  fortunate  to  find  them  ?" 

"  Very,"  replied  Mary,  with  forced  interest ;  "  although 
I  hardly  know  what  you  will  do  with  them.  I  had  them 
put  in  the  shed  for  the  present." 

*;ln  the  shed!"  exclaimed  Arthur;  "but  you  are 
right,  Mary,  they  need  a  little  rubbing  off;  please  to 
let  Janet  attend  to  them  this  morning,  and  I  will  show 
you  the  very  places  where  they  used  to  stand  in  the 
parlour.  How  delighted  I  shall  be  to  see  the  did  clock 


218  TRIFLES 

in  its  accustomed  corner,  and  to  seat  myself  in  the  very 
chain  where  I  have  so  often  sat  Avith  my  dear  mother!" 

Mary  uttered  an  involuntary  exclamation  of  horror. 

"  Why,  Arthur,  you  do  not  really  intend  to  place 
those  hideous  old  things  in  our  parlour?" 

"  Certainly  I  do.  I  see  nothing  hideous  in  them. 
They  are  worth  all  our  fashionable  furniture  put 
together.  What  is  your  objection  to  them,  Mary  ?" 

"  I  have  every  objection  to  them,"  was  her  almost 
indignant  reply.  "  They  would  form  the  most  ludicrous 
contrast  to  the  rest  of  our  furniture." 

"  I  see  nothing  ludicrous  or  improper  in  putting  them 
in  their  old  places,"  said  Arthur,  warmly.  "  They  are 
dear  to  me  as  having  belonged  to  my  parents,  and  I 
cannot  see  why  you  should  wish  to  deny  me  the  pleasure 
of  having  them  where  I  can  enjoy  the  recollections  which 
they  recall." 

"  Put  them  in  the  garret,  or  in  your  own  little  room 
•where  you  keep  your  books,  if  you  like,"  answered  Mary; 
"  but  if  you  have  any  regard  to  my  feelings,  you  will 
keep  them  out  of  my  sight.  I  think  the  sacrifice  which 
I  make  in  living  in  this  old-fashioned  place  is  enough, 
without  requiring  me  to  ornament  my  parlour  with 
furniture  which  was  in  use  before  I  was  born.  However, 
I  do  not  expect  much  consideration  for  my  opinions  and 
tastes ;"  and,  overpowered  with  a  mixed  feeling  of 
indignation  and  regret  for  the  warmth  with  which  she 
had  spoken,  Mary  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  have  certainly  showed  little  regard  for  my 
feelings,"  was  Arthur's  irritated  reply ;  "  and  perhaps, 
I  may  also  say  with  truth,  what  your  words  imply;  1 


TRIFLES.  219 

have  little  reason  to  expect  regard  and  consideration  ;" 
and  hastily  leaving  the  room,  he  was  on  his  way  to  hia 
office  before  Mary  had  composed  herself  sufficiently  to 
descend  to  the  breakfast  room. 

"  Has  Mr.  Hartwell  breakfasted  ?"  she  inquired,  with 
surprise,  as  she  saw  the  solitary  cup  and  plate  'which 
Janet  had  placed  for  her. 

"  He  took  no  breakfast,  ma'am.  I  think  he  was  in 
great  haste  to  reach  the  office." 

"  He  has  a  great  deal  to  attend  to,  just  now,"  replied 
her  mistress,  unwilling  that  Janet  should  suspect  the 
truth ;  but  as  soon  as  the  girl  left  the  room,  her  excited 
feelings  again  found  vent  in  tears. 

Bitterly  did  she  regret  what  had  passed.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  harsh  words  had  been  uttered  by  either, 
and  they  seemed  to  have  lifted  the  veil  which  had  long 
been  drawn  over  thoughts  and  feelings  which  had  tended 
to  dissimilarity  and  separation. 

The  year  passed  in  rapid  review  before  her,  and  she 
felt  that  there  was  a  great  and  fearful  change,  the  cause 
of  which  she  could  not  define,  for  she  had  no  distinct 
charges  to  bring  against  Arthur,  and  as  yet,  she  attached 
little  blame  to  herself.  The  unkind  manner  in  which 
she  had  spoken  that  morning,  was  indeed  regretted ;  but 
this  seemed  the  only  error.  It  was  certainly  unreason 
able  in  Arthur  to  expect  her  to  yield  willingly  to  such  a 
strange  whim. 

But  he  no  longer  loved  her,  she  was  sure  of  this ;  and 
proof  after  proof  of  his  inattention  to  her  wishes,  and 
neglect  of  her  feelings,  came  to  her  mind,  until  she  was 


220  TRIFLES. 

almost  overwhelmed  with  the  view  of  her  own  misery, 
which  imagination  thus  placed  before  her. 

And  this  was  the  anniversary  of  their  marriage  !  One 
ahort  year  before  and  they  had  exchanged  those  mutual 
vows  which  then  appeared  unchangeable.  How  soon 
happiness  had  fled  !  And  to  think  that  this  climax  of 
their  troubles  should  happen  upon  this  very  day,  which 
ought  to  have  been  consecrated  to  tender  remembrances  ! 
— this  was  the  hardest  thought  of  all ;  but  probably, 
Arthur  did  not  even  remember  the  day.  As  these  and 
similar  thoughts  passed  through  Mary's  mind,  her  tears 
redoubled,  and  fearful  that  Janet  would  surprise  her  in 
this  situation,  she  rose  hastily  to  go  to  her  own  room. 
In  doing  this  her  eye  suddenly  rested  upon  a  small  par 
cel  addressed  to  herself,  which  lay  upon  her  little  work- 
table,  and  taking  it  in  her  hand  she  passed  quickly  up 
the  stairs,  just  in  time  to  avoid  the  scrutinizing  eye  of 
Janet,  who,  shrewdly  suspecting  that  something  waa 
wrong,  had  resolved  to  be  uncommonly  attentive  to  her 
young  mistress,  in  the  hope  of  discovering  the  cause  of 
the  trouble. 

Mary  locked  the  door  of  her  own  apartment,  and  ob 
serving  that  the  address  on  the  package  was  in  Arthur's 
handwriting,  she  hastily  tore  off  the  envelope,  discover 
ing  a  beautiful  edition  of  a  volume  of  poems  for  which 
she  had  expressed  a  wish — unheeded  and  unheard,  as 
she  deemed  it — some  days  before.  Her  own  name  and 
that  of  her  husband  were  written  upon  the  blank  leaf, 
and  the  date  showed  that  it  was  designed  as  a  gift  for 
this  very  day ;  a  proof  that  he  remembered  the  anni« 
versary  which  she  had  supposed  so  entirely  forgotten. 


THIFLES.  221 

It  was  but  a  trifling  attention — one  of  those  ].1easani 
little  patches  of  blue  sky  which  we  sometimes  see  when 
the  remainder  of  the  heavens  is  covered  with  clouds — 
but  it  produced  an  entire  revulsion  of  feeling.  A  flood 
of  gentle  and  tender  emotions  filled  the  heart  of  the 
young  wife ;  the  faults  of  her  husband  now  appeared  to 
her  as  nothing,  while  his  many  virtues  stood  out  in  bold 
relief;  she,  alone,  had  been  to  blame  in  the  little  diffi 
culties  which  had  sprung  up  between  them,  for  a  playful 
remonstrance  on  her  part  would,  no  doubt,  have  dispelled 
the  coldness  of  manner  which  had  sometimes  troubled 
her,  and  induced  him  to  pay  those  little  attentions  which 
her  heart  craved.  He  had  always,  in  every  important 
matter,  been  very,  very  kind  to  her,  and  how  often  she 
had  opposed  his  wishes  and  laughed  at  his  opinions ! 

But  it  was  not  yet  too  late ;  she  would  regain  the  place 
in  his  affections  which  she  still  feared  she  had  forfeited ; 
and  with  the  childish,  impulsive  eagerness  which  marked 
her  character,  Mary  hastened  to  the  shed,  and  summon 
ing  Janet  to  her  assistance,  was  soon  busily  at  work  on 
the  old  furniture,  which,  an  hour  ago,  she  had  so  much 
despised.  The  old  clock-case  soon  shone  with  an  un 
equalled  polish,  and  the  chair  seeemed  to  have  renewed 
its  youth.  But  where  should  they  be  placed  ?  for  Arthur 
had  left  the  house  without  designating  the  spot  where 
they  had  formerly  stood. 

"It  would  be  so  delightful  to  have  them  just  where  he 
wished,  before  he  comes  home  !"  thought  Mary,  and  it  waa 
with  real  joy  that  she  turned  to  receive  the  greeting  of 
a  worthy  old  lady,  who  was  one  of  the  nearest  neigh 
bours,  and  having  lived  on  the  same  place  for  the  last 


222  TRIFLES. 

forty  years,  had  undoubtedly  been  well  acquainted  with 
the  old  chair  and  clock,  and  could  tell  the  very  place 
•where  they  ought  to  stand. 

This  proved  to  be  the  case.  The  lady  was  quite  de« 
lighted  to  meet  such  old  friends,  and  assisted  Mary  in 
arranging  them  with  the  utmost  pleasure. 

"  There,  dear,"  she  exclaimed,  when  all  was  com 
pleted,  "  that  is  exactly  right.  It  seems  to  me  I  can 
almost  see  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Hart-well,  in  her  favour 
ite  chair,  with  her  pretty  little  boy,  your  husband  that 
is  now,  by  her  side.  Poor  child !  it  was  a  sad  loss  to 
him  when  she  died ;  I  am  glad  he  has  found  such  a  good 
wife ;  it  is  not  every  one  who  thinks  so  much  of  their 
husband's  feelings  as  you  do,  my  dear.'' 

Mary  blushed  a  little  at  this  somewhat  ill-deserved 
praise,  but  thanked  her  worthy  visitor  for  her  kindness, 
and  exerted  herself  so  successfully  to  make  her  long  call 
agreeable,  that  the  good  lady  went  home  with  the  firm 
impression  that  "  Arthur  Hartwell  had  got  one  of  the 
best  wives  in  the  country." 

The  hours  seemed  long  until  the  usual  time  for  Ar 
thur's  arrival ;  and  with  almost  trembling  eagerness 
Mary  heard  his  step  in  the  entry.  Her  tremulous  but 
pleasant  "good  evening,"  met  with  rather  a  cold  return, 
but  she  was  prepared  for  this,  and  was  not  discouraged. 
Tea  was  on  the  table,  and  they  sat  down.  Arthur's 
taste  had  been  scrupulously  consulted,  and  the  effort  to 
please  did  not,  as  was  too  often  the  case,  pass  unnoticed. 

From  a  desire  to  break  the  somewhat  awkward  silence, 
or  from  some  other  motive,  he  praised  each  favourite 
dish,  and  declared  he  had  seldom  eaten  so  good  a  supper. 


TRIFLES,  223 

Rising  from  table,  they  proceeded  as  usual  to  the  par- 
iOur ;  and  now  Mary  was  amply  rewarded  for  the  sacri 
fice  of  her  own  taste,  if  sacrifice  it  could  he  called,  hy 
the  surprise  and  pleasure  visible  in  her  husband's  coun 
tenance  as  he  looked  around,  and  by  the  affectionate  kiss 
which  he  imprinted  upon  her  cheek. 

"  And  you  will  forgive  my  hasty  words,  will  you  not  ?" 
Mary  whispered  softly,  as  he  bent  his  head  to  hers. 

"  They  will  never  again  be  remembered,"  was  the 
reply ;  "  and  I  have  also  much  to  ask  your  forgiveness 
for,  Mary,  for  I  have  thought  much  and  deeply,  to-day, 
dearest,  and  I  find  that  I  have  been  very  deficient  in 
many  of  the  most  essential  qualities  of  a  husband.  But 
let  us  sit  down  together  in  this  old  chair,  which  with  me 
is  so  strongly  associated  with  the  memory  of  my  dear 
mother,  that  it  seems  as  if  her  spirit  must  be  near  to 
bless  us ;  and  we  will  review  the  past  year  a  little,  and 
you  will  let  me  peep  into  your  heart,  and  give  me  a 
clearer  insight  into  its  feelings  and  wants." 

A  long  and  free  conversation  followed,  in  which  the 
husband  and  wife  gained  more  real  knowledge  of  each 
other's  characters  than  they  had  obtained  in  the  whole 
of  their  previous  acquaintance.  All  coldness  and  doubt 
was  dispelled,  and  they  felt  that  they  loved  more  ten 
derly  and  truly  than  ever  before. 

"  And  now,  dearest,  we  will  sum  up  -the  lesson  which 
we  are  to  remember,"  said  Arthur,  playfully,  as  the  late 
ness  of  the  hour  reminded  them  that  the  evening  had 
passed  unheeded  away.  "Jam  to  think  more  of  trifles, 
and  you  are — " 

"To  think  less,"  added  Mary,  smilingly.  "Let  us 
see  who  will  remember  their  lesson  the  best." 


DOMESTIC  HAPPINESS. 

THERE  are  certain  pairs  of  old-fashioned-looking  pic 
tures,  in  black  frames  generally,  and  most  commonly 
glazed  with  greenish  and  crooked  crown  glass,  to  be 
occasionally  met  with  in  brokers'  shops,  or  more  often, 
perhaps,  on  cottage  walls,  and  sometimes  in  the  dingy, 
smoky  parlour  of  a  village  tavern  or  ale-house,  which 
said  pictures  contain  and  exhibit  a  lively  and  impressive 
moral.  Some  of  our  readers,  doubtless,  have  seen  and 
been  edified  by  these  ancient  engravings ;  and,  for  the 
benefit  of  those  who  have  not,  we  will  describe  them. 

The  first  picture  of  the  pair  represents  a  blooming 
and  blushing  damsel,  well  bedecked  in  frock  of  pure 
white  muslin,  if  memory  serves  us  faithfully,  very 
scanty  and  very  short-waisted,  as  was  the  fashion  fifty 
years  ago,  and  may  again  be  the  fashion  in  less  than 
fifty  years  hence,  for  aught  we  can  tell.  Over  this 
frock  is  worn  a  gay  spencer,  trimmed  with  lace  and 
ornamented  with  an  unexceptionable  frill,  while  the 
damsel's  auburn  curls  are  surmounted  with  a  gipsy  hat 
of  straw,  fluttering  with  broad,  true  blue  ribbons,  which 
fasten  it  in  a  true  love  knot,  under  the  dimpled  chin. 

Her  companion  (for  she  has  a  companion)  is  a  young 
countryman  in  glossy  boots,  tight  buckskins,  gay  flapped 
waistcoat,  blue  or  brown  long-waisted  and  broad-skirted 
coat,  frilled  shirt,  and  white  kerchief,  innocent  of  starch, 
who  smiles  most  lovingly,  as  with  fond  devotion  [here, 
gentle  reader,  is  the  moral  of  the  picture],  he  bends 


DOMESTIC    HAPPINESS.  225 

lowlily,  and  chivalrously  places  at  the  disposal  of  the 
fair  lady,  hand,  arm,  and  manly  strength,  as  she  pauses 
before  a  high-backed  stile  which  crosses  the  path,  lead 
ing,  if  we  mistake  not,  to  the  village  church.  Beneath 
this  picture,  reader,  in  Roman  capitals,  are  the  w  )rds ; 
— "  BEFORE  MARRIAGE." 

We  turn  to  the  second  picture  ;  and  there  may  be  seen 
the  same  high-backed  stile,  the  same  path,  and  the  samo 
passengers.  Painfully  and  awkwardly  is  the  lady  repre 
sented  as  endeavouring,  unaided,  to  climb  the  rails,  while 
beyond  her  is  the  companion  of  her  former  walk — her 
companion  still,  but  not  her  helper — slowly  sauntering 
on,  and  looking  back  with  an  ominous  frown,  as  though 
chiding  the  delay.  Beneath  this  picture  are  the  signifi 
cant  words  : — "  AFTER  MARRIAGE." 

One  couiJl  Trish  these  pictures  were  only  pictures  ;  but, 
in  sober  earnest,  they  are  allegories,  and  too  truthfully 
portray  what  passes  continually  before  our  eyes :  the 
difference,  to  wit,  between  the  two  states  there  presented. 
Truly,  indeed,  has  it  been  said,  "  Time  and  possession 
too  frequently  lessen  our  attachment  to  objects  that  were 
rnce  most  valued,  to  enjoy  which  no  difficulties  were 
thought  insurmountable,  no  trials  too  great,  and  no  pain 
too  severe.  Such,  also,  is  the  tenure  by  which  we  hold 
all  terrestrial  happiness,  and  such  the  instability  of  all 
human  estimation  !  And  though  the  ties  of  conjugal 
affection  are  calculated  to  promote,  as  well  as  to  secure 
permanent  felicity,  yet  many,  it  is  to  be  feared,  have 
just  reason  to  exclaim, 

"  '  Once  to  prevent  my  wishes  Philo  flew ; 

But  time,  that  alters  all,  has  altered  you.' 
15 


226  DOMESTIC   HAPPINESS. 

"  It  ip,  perhaps,  not  to  be  expected  that  a  man  cnn 
retain  through  life  that  assiduity  by  which  he  pleases 
for  a  day  or  a  month.  Care,  however,  should  be  taken 
that  he  do  not  so  far  relax  his  vigilance  as  to  induce  a 
belief  that  his  affection  is  diminished.  Few  disquietudes 
occur  in  domestic  life  which  might  not  have  been  pre 
vented  ;  and  those  so  frequently  witnessed,  generally 
arise  from  a  want  of  attention  to  those  mutual  endear 
ments  which  all  have  in  their  power  to  perform,  and 
which,  as  they  are  essential  to  the  preservation  of  hap 
piness,  should  never  be  intentionally  omitted." 

This  witness,  dear  reader,  is  true.  The  neglect  of 
those  little  attentions  which  every  married  couple  have 
it  in  their  power  to  shoAV  to  each  other,  daily,  hourly,  is 
a  sure  method  of  undermining  domestic  happiness.  Let 
every  married  reader  bear  this  in  mind,  and  reflect 
upon  it ;  for  it  is  an  undeniable  truth. 

It  was  a  full  quarter  of  a  century  ago  that  the  writer 
first  saw  the  pair  of  engravings  which  he  has  described. 
They  were  hanging  over  the  fire-place  of  a  newly-married 
cottager.  "  There,"  said  she,  laughing,  as  she  pointed 
to  the  second  picture;  "you  see  what  I  have  to  ex 
pect." 

She  did  not  expect  it,  though  !  Such  an  attentive, 
kind,  and  self-denying  lover,  as  her  "old  man,"  as  she 
called  him  in  sport,  had  been,  would  never  change  into 
a  morose  brute,  who  could  suffer  his  wife  to  climb  over 
an  awkward  stile  without  help,  and  scold  her  for  her 
clumsiness. 

Reader,  not  many  months  since  we  saw  poor  Mary, 
prematurely  gray  ap4  t|me-stricken.  for  years  she  has 


DOMESTIC   HAPPINESS.  2*J7 

been  living  apart  from  her  husband,  her  children  scat 
tered  abroad  in  the  world,  and  she  is  sad  and  solitary. 
And  thus  it  was : — He,  the  trusted  one,  tired  of  being 
the  fond  lover  of  the  picture,  soon  began  to  show  him 
self  the  husband.  She,  the  confiding  one,  stung  by 
some  instances  of  neglect,  reproached  and  taunted.  Ho 
resented  these  reproaches  as  unjust,  and  to  prove  them 
so,  redoubled  his  inattentiveness  to  her,  absented  him 
self  from  home,  and  bestowed  his  attentions  elsewhere. 
She  copied  his  example,  and  by  way  of  punishment  in 
kind,  lavished  her  smiles  and  kindnesses  in  other  quar 
ters.  He — but  why  go  on  ?  years — sad  years  of  crimi 
nation  and  recrimination,  of  provocation,  and  bitter 
reproaches,  and  suspicion,  and  mutual  jealousy,  and 
dislike,  and  hatred,  wore  away.  At  length  they  parted. 
What  became  of  the  pair  of  pictures,  we  often  wonder. 

"For  about  two  years  after  I  was  married,"  says 
Cobbett,  in  his  Advice  to  a  Husband,  "  I  retained  some 
of  my  military  manners,  and  used  to  romp  most  famously 
with  the  girls  that  came  in  my  way ;  till  one  day,  at 
Philadelphia,  my  wife  said  to  me,  in  a  very  gentle  man 
ner,  '  Don't  ,do  that,  I  do  not  like  it.'  That  was  quite 
enough ;  I  had  never  thought  on  the  subject  before;  ono 
hair  of  her  head  was  more  dear  to  me  than  all  the  other 
women  in  the  world,  and  this  I  knew  that  she  knew ; 
but  I  now  saw  that  this  was  not  all  that  she  had  a  right 
to  from  me ;  I  saw  that  she  had  the  further  claim  upon 
me  that  I  should  abstain  from  everything  that  might 
induce  others  to  believe  that  there  was  any  other  woman 
for  whom,  even  if  I  were  at  liberty,  I  had  any  affection." 

"I  beseech  young  married  men,"  continues  he,  "to 


228  DOMESTIC   HAPPINESS. 

bear  this  in  mind ;  for,  on  some  trifle  of  this  sort  the 
happiness  or  misery  of  a  long  life  frequently  turns.  If 
the  mind  of  a  wife  be  disturbed  on  this  score,  every  pos 
sible  means  ought  to  be  used  to  restore  it  to  peace ;  and 
though  her  suspicions  be  perfectly  groundless — though 
they  be  wild  .as  the  dreams  of  madmen — though  they 
may  present  a  mixture  of  the  furious  and  the  ridiculous, 
still  they  are  to  be  treated  with  the  greatest  lenity  and 
tenderness ;  and  if,  after  all,  you  fail,  the  frailty  is  to  .be 
lamented  as  a  misfortune,  and  not  punished  as  a  fault, 
seeing  that  it  must  have  its  foundation  in  a  feeling 
towards  you,  which  it  would  be  the  basest  of  ingratitude, 
and  the  most  ferocious  of  cruelty,  to  repay  by  harshness 
of  any  description." 

"  The  truth  is,"  adds  the  same  writer,  "  that  the 
greatest  security  of  all  against  jealousy  in  a  wife  is  to 
show,  to  prove  by  your  acts,  by  your  words  also,  but 
more  especially  by  your  acts,  that  you  prefer  her  to  all 
the  world ;  and  I  know  of  no  act  that  is,  in  this  respect, 
equal  to  spending  in  her  company  every  moment  of  your 
leisure  time.  Everybody  knows,  and  young  wives  better 
than  anybody  else,  that  people,  who  can  choose,  will  be 
where  they  like  best  to  be,  and  that  they  will  be  along 
with  those  whose  company  they  like  best.  The  matter 
is  very  plain  ;  and  I  do  beseech  you  to  bear  it  in  mind. 
Nor  do  I  see  the  use,  or  sense,  of  keeping  a  great  deal 
of  company  as  it  is  called.  What  company  can  a  man 
and  woman  want  more  than  their  two  selves,  and  their 
children,  if  they  have  any  ?  If  here  be  not  company 
enough,  it  is  but  a  sad  affair.  This  hankering  after 
company  proves,  clearly  proves,  that  you  want  some- 


DOMESTIC   HAPPINESS.  229 

thing  beyond  the  society  of  your  wife ;  and  that  she  is 
sure  to  feel  most  acutely;  the  bare  fact  contains  an 
imputation  against  her,  and  it  is  pretty  sure  to  lay  the 
foundation  of'jealousy,  or  of  something  still  worse." 

Addressed,  as  these  sentiments  are,  to  the  husband, 
they  are  equally  applicable  to  the  wife ;  and  on  the  part 
of  domestic  happiness,  »ve  urge  upon  our  readers,  all,  to 
prove  their  constancy  of  attachment  by  mutual  kind 
cffices  and  delicate  attentions,  in  health  and  in  sickness, 
in  joy  and  in  sorrow ;  by  abstinence  from  all  that  may 
wound  ;  and  by  an  honest  preference  of  home  enjoy 
ments  above  all  other  enjoyments. 

But  to  keep  alive  this  honest  preference,  there  must 
be, — in  addition  to  other  good  qualifications  which  have 
heretofore  passed  under  review, 

1.  Constant  cheerfulness  and  good  humour.  A  wife 
and  mother  who  is  perpetually  fretful  and  peevish ;  who 
has  nothing  to  utter  to  her  husband  when  he  returns 
from  his  daily  occupation,  whatever  it  may  be,  or  to  her 
children  when  they  are  assembled  around  her,  but  com 
plaints  of  her  hard  lot  and  miserable  destiny ;  who  is 
always  brooding  over  past  sorrows,  or  anticipating  future 
evils  ;  does  all  she  can,  unconsciously  it  may  be,  to  make 
her  hearth  desolate,  and  to  mar  for  ever  domestic  happi 
ness.  And  the  husband  and  father  who  brings  to  that 
hearth  a  morose  frown,  or  a  gloomy  brow ;  who  silences 
the  prattling  tongue  of  infancy  by  a  stern  command ; 
who  suffers  the  annoyances  and  cares  of  life  to  cut  into 
his  heart's  core,  and  refuses  to  be  comforted  or  charmed 
by  the  thousand  endearments  of  her  whom  he  has  sworn 


230  DOMESTIC    HAPPINESS. 

to  love  and  cherish ;  such  a  one  does  not  deserve  domestic 
happiness. 

Young  reader,  and  expectant  of  future  domestic  bless, 
take  a  word  of  advice: -Be  good-tempered.  You  have 
not  much  to  try  your  patience  now ;  by-and-by  your 
trials  will  come  on.  Now,  then,  is  the  time  to  practise 
good-temper  in  the  little  vexations  of  life,  so  as  to  pre 
pare  you  for  future  days.  No  doubt  there  are  many 
little  rubs  and  jars  to  fret  and  shake  even  you ;  many 
small  things,  not  over  and  above  agreeable,  to  put  up 
with.  Bear  them  you  must ;  but  do  try  and  bear  them 
without  losing  your  temper.  If  a  man  have  a  stubborn 
or  a  skittish  horse  to  manage,  he  knows  that  the  best 
way  to  deal  with  it  is  by  gentle,  good-humoured  coaxing. 
Just  so  it  is  in  other  things :  kindness,  gentleness,  and 
downright  good-humour  will  do  what  all  the  blustering 
and  anger  in  the  world  cannot  accomplish.  If  a  wagon 
wheel  creaks  and  works  stiff,  or  if  it  skids  instead  of 
turning  round,  you  know  well  enough  that  it  wants  oiling. 
Well,  always  carry  a  good  supply  of  the  oil  of  good 
temper  about  with  you,  and  use  it  well  on  every  needful 
occasion  ;  no  fear  then  of  creaking  wheels  as  you  move 
along  the  great  highway  of  life. 

Then,  on  the  part,  still,  of  domestic  happiness,  would 
we  earnestly  advise  a  decent,  nay,  a  strict  regard  to  per 
sonal  habits,  so  far,  at  least,  as  the  feelings  of  othora 
are  concerned.  "  It  is  seldom,"  writes  a  traveller,  "  that 
I  find  associates  in  inns  who  come  up  to  my  ideas  of 
what  is  right  and  proper  in  personal  habits.  The  most 
of  them  indulge,  more  or  less,  in  devil's  tattooing,  in 
snapping  of  fingers,  in  puffing  and  blowing,  and  other 


DOMESTIC   HAPPINESS.  231 

noises,  anomalous  and  indescribable,  often  apparently 
merely  to  let  the  other  people  in  the  room  know  that 
they  are  there,  and  not  thinking  of  anything  in  particu 
lar.  Few  seem  to  be  under  any  sense  of  the  propriety 
of  subduing  as  much  as  possible  all  sounds  connected 
with  the  animal  functions,  though  even  breathing  might, 
and  ought  to  be  managed  in  perfect  silence."  Now,  if 
it  were  only  in  inns  that  disagreeable  personal  habits 
are  practised,  it  would  not  much  interfere  with  the 
happiness  of  nine-tenths  of  the  people  in  the  world ;  but 
the  misfortune  is  that  home  is  the  place  where  they  are 
to  be  noticed  in  full  swing — to  use  a  common  expression. 
Indeed,  perhaps  there  are  few  persons  who  do  not,  in  a 
degree  at  least,  mar  domestic  happiness  by  persisting  in 
personal  peculiarities  which  they  know  are  unpleasant 
to  those  around  them.  Harmless  these  habits  may  be 
in  themselves,  perhaps  ;  but  inasmuch  as  they  are  teasing, 
annoying,  and  irritating  to  others,  they  are  not  harmless. 
Nay,  they  are  criminal,  because  they  are  accompanied 
by  a  most  unamiable  disregard  to  the  feelings  of  others. 
To  make  home  truly  happy,  the  mind  must  be  culti 
vated.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that  a  man  and  his 
wife,  and  tieir  children,  if  they  have  any,  ought  to  bo 
company  enough  for  each  other,  without  seeking  society 
elsewhere  ;  and  it  is  quite  right  that  it  should  be  so : 
but  what  if  they  have  nothing  tc  say  to  each  other,  as 
reasonable  and  thinking  beings? — nothing  to  communi 
cate  beyond  the  veriest  common-places — nothing  to  learn 
from  each  other  ? — nothing  but  mere  animal  enjoyments 
in  common  ?  Imagine  such  a  case,  reader,  where  father, 
mother,  and  children  are  sunk  in  grossest  ignorance, 


232  A   SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

without  knowledge,  without  intellectual  resources,  or 
even  intellectual  powers,  without  books,  or  any  acquaint 
ance  with  books,  or  any  desire  for  such  acquaintance ! 
What  domestic  happiness  can  there  be  in  such  a  case  ? 
As  well  might  we  talk  of  the  domestic  happiness  of  a 
dog-kennel  or  sheep-pen,  a  stable  or  a  pig-stye.  And 
just  in  proportion  as  ignorance  predominates,  so  are  the 
chances  of  domestic  happiness  diminished.  Where  there 
is  great  ignorance,  and  contentment  with  ignorance, 
there  is  vice ;  and  vice  is  not  happiness — it  cannot  be. 
Therefore,  all  other  things  equal,  that  family  will  have 
the  greatest  chance  of  the  greatest  share  of  domestic 
happiness,  where  each  member  of  it  has  the  mind  to 
take  in,  and  the  heart  to  give  out,  a  constant  succession 
of  fresh  ideas,  gained  from  observation,  experience,  and 
books.  Reader,  think  of  these  things. 


A  SYLVAN  MORALITY;  OR,  A  WORD  TO  WIVES 

"These  summer  wings 
Have  borne  me  in  my  days  of  idle  pleasure ; 
I  do  discard  them." 

"  And,  Benedick,  love  on  ;  I  will  requite  thee, 
Taming  my  wild  heart  to  thy  loving  hand." 

WE  have  a  young  relative,  about  whom  we  are  going 
to  relate  a  little  anecdote  connected  with  insect  history, 
which  requires,  however,  a  few  prefatory  words. 

At  the  age  of  seventeen  Emily  S.  "  came  out,"  gilt 


A   SYLVAN    MORALITY.  283 

and  lettered,  from  the  Minerva  Press  of  a  fashionable 
boarding-school,  and  was  two  years  afterwards  bound  (in 
white  satin)  as  a  bride.  In  the  short  period  intervening 
between  these  two  important  epochs,  she  had  had  a  pro 
digious  run  of  admiration.  Sonnets  had  been  penned 
on  her  pencilled  brow,  and  the  brows  of  rival  beauties 
had  contracted  at  the  homage  paid  to  hers.  All  this 
Emily  had  liked  well  enough — perhaps  a  little  better 
than  she  ought ;  but  where  was  the  wonder  ?  for  besides 
excuses  general  (such  as  early  youth  and  early  training) 
for  loving  the  world  and  the  world's  vanities,  she  had  an 
excuse  of  her  own,  in  the  fact  that  she  had  nothing  else 
to  love — no  mother,  no  sister,  no  home — no  home  at 
least  in  its  largest  and  loving  sense.  She  was  the  orphan 
but  not  wealthy  ward  of  a  fashionable  aunt,  in  whom  the 
selfish  regrets  of  age  had  entirely  frozen  the  few  sym 
pathies  left  open  by  the  selfish  enjoyments  of  youth. 

When  Emily  married,  and  for  a  few  months  previous, 
it  was  of  course  to  be  presumed  that  she  had  found 
something  better  than  the  world  whereon  to  fix  the 
affection  of  her  warm  young  heart.  At  all  events,  she 
had  found  a  somebody  to  love  her,  and  one  who  was 
worthy  to  be  loved  in  return.  Indeed,  a  better  fellow 

than  our  friend  F does  not  live ;  but  though  fairly 

good-looking,  and  the  perfect  gentleman,  he  was  not  per 
haps  exactly  the  description  of  gentleman  to  excite  any 
rapid  growth  of  romantic  attachment  in  the  bosom  of  an 
aclr;iired  girl  of  nineteen. 

Why  did  she  marry  him  ?  Simply  because  amongst 
her  admirers  she  liked  nobody  better,  and  because  her 
aunt,  who  was  anxious  to  be  relieved  of  her  charge,  liked 


234  A   SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

nobody  so  well ; — not  because  he  had  much  to  offer,  but 
because  it  was  little  he  required. 

Soon  after  their  marriage  the  happy  pair  set  out  for 

Paris.  F ,  though  his  means  were  slender  and  tasteg 

retired,  made  every  effort  (as  far  as  bridegroom  could  so 
feel  it)  to  gratify  his  lively  young  wife  by  a  stay  at  the 
capital  of  pleasure.  After  a  subsequent  excursion,  they 
returned  within  a  year  to  England,  and  settled  at  a 
pretty  cottage  in  Berkshire,  to  which  we  speedily  re 
ceived  a  cordial  invitation.  It  was  no  less  readily  ac 
cepted  ;  for  we  were  anxious  to  behold  the  "  rural 
felicity,"  of  which  we  little  doubted  our  friends  were  in 
full  possession. 

The  result,  however,  of  a  week's  sojourn  at  their  quiet 
ab  )de,  was  the  reluctant  opinion  that,  somehow  or  an 
other,  the  marriage  garments  of  the  young  couple  did 
not  sit  quite  easy ;  though  to  point  out  the  defect  in  their 
make,  or  to  discover  where  they  girted,  were  matters  on 
which  it  required  more  time  to  form  a  decided  judgment. 
One  thing,  however,  was  pretty  obvious.  "With  her  ma 
tronly  title,  Emily  had  not  assumed  an  atom  of  that 
seriousness — not  sad,  but  sober — which  became  her  new 
estate  ;  nor  did  she,  as  we  shrewdly  suspected,  pay  quite 
as  much  attention  to  the  cares  of  her  little  menage  as 
was  rendered  incumbent  by  the  limited  amount  of  her 
husband's  income.  She  seemed,  in  short,  the  same 
thoughtless  pleasure-loving,  pleasure-seeking  girl  as  ever; 
now  that  she  was  captured,  the  same  volatile  butterfly 
as  when  surrounded  and  chased  by  butterflies  like  her 
self.  But  her  captor  ?  asks  some  modern  Petruchio — 
had  he  not,  or  could  he  not  contrive  to  clip  her  pinions  ? 


A   SYLVAN   MORALITY.  2?£ 

Poor  F — — !  not  he  !  he  w^uld  have  feared  to  "  brush 
the  dujt"  from  cfF  thon;  and,  from  something  of  this 
over-tei:Jorness,  had  bsen  feeding,  with  the  honeyed 
pleasures  of  the  French  capital,  those  tastes  which  (with 
out  them)  .tag-lit  have  been  reconciled  already  to  the 
more  spare  .vnd  simple  sociabilities  of  a  retired  English 
neighbourhood-  He  was  only  now  trying  the  experi 
ment  which  shoald  have  been  made  a  year  ago,  and  that 
with  a  reluctant  and  undecided  hand. 

Poor  Emily !  htr  love  of  gayety  had  now,  it  is  true, 
but  little  scope  for  its  display ;  but  it  was  still  strongly 
apparent,  in  the  rapturous  regret  with  which  she  refer 
red  to  pleasures  past,  and  the  rapturous  delight  with 
which  she  greeted  certain  occasional  breaks  in  the  mo 
notony  of  a  country  life.  An  approaching  dinner-party- 
would  raise  her  tide  of  spirits,  and  a  distant  ball  or  bow- 
meeting  make  them  swell  into  a  flood.  On  one  or  two 

of  such  occasions,  we  fancied  that  F ,  though  never 

stern,  looked  grave  —  grave  enough  to  have  been  set 
down  as  an  unreasonable  fellow ;  if  not  by  every  one, 
at  least  by  that  complex  "everybody,"  who  declared 
that  his  wife  was  "  one  of  the  prettiest  and  sweetest 
little  women  in  the  world,"  and,  as  everybody  must  be 
right,  so  of  course  it  was. 

Rarely,  indeed,  had  our  gentle  Benedick  beheld  the 
face  of  his  "  Young  May  Moon"  absolutely  obscured ; 
but  then  it  had  always  been  his  care  to  chase  away  from 
it  every  passing  or  even  approaching  cloud ;  and  he 
would  certainly  have  liked,  in  return,  that  its  very 
brightest  rays  should  have  shone  on  him  direct,  instead 


U36  A   SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

of  reaching  him  only,  as  it  were,  reflected  from  what  in 
his  eyes,  certainly,  were  very  inferior  objects. 

We  had  passed  some  weeks  at  our  entertainer's  cot 
tage  when  rumours  got  afloat,  such  as  had  not  disturbed 
for  many  a  year  the  standing  and  sometimes  stagnant 

pool  of  Goslington  society.  The  son  of  Lord  W 

was  about  to  come  of  age,  and  the  event  was  to  be  cele 
brated  by  grand  doings ;  a  varied  string  of  entertain 
ments,  to  be  wound  up,  so  it  was  whispered,  by  a  great 
parti-coloured  or  fancy  ball.  Rumours  were  soon  silenced 
by  certainty,  and  our  friends  were  amongst  those  who 
received  an  invitation  to  meet  all  the  world  of  Gosliug- 
ton  and  a  fragment  of  the  world  of  London,  about  to  be 

brought  into  strange  conjunction  at  W Castle.  What 

shapes !  grotesque,  and  gay,  arid  gorgeous — ghosts  of 
things  departed — started  up  before  the  sparkling  eyes 

of  Emily,  as  she  put  the  reviving  talisman  into  F 's 

hand.  No  wonder  that  her  charmed  sight  failed  to  dis 
cover  what  was,  however,  sufficiently  apparent,  that  her 
husband's  delight  at  the  honour  done  them  by  no  means 
equalled  hers.  Indeed  we  were  pretty  certain  that  not 
merely  dissatisfaction,  but  even  dissent,  was  to  be  read 
in  his  compressed  lip,  and,  for  once,  forbidding  eye. 

Nothing  was  said  then  upon  the  subject ;  but  we  saw 
the  next  morning  something  very  like  coolness  on  the 

part  of  F towards  his  wife,  which  was  returned  on 

hers  by  something  very  like  petulance.  Ah  !  thought 
we,  it  all  comes  of  this  unlucky  fancy  ball !  We  had 
often  heard  it  declared  by  our  friend  that  he  hated  every 
species  of  masquerade,  and  would  never  allow  (though 
this  was  certainly  before  his  marriage)  either  sister, 


A   SYLVAN    MORALITY.  237 

wife,  or  daughter  of  his  to  attend  one.  But,  besides 
this  aversion  for  such  entertainments  in  general,  he  had 
reasons,  as  we  afterwards  gathered,  for  disliking,  in  par 
ticular,  this  fancy  ball  of  Lord  W 's.  Amongst  the 

"London  World"  Emily  would  be  sure  to  meet  several 
of  her  quondam  acquaintances,  perhaps  admirers ;  and 
though  he  was  no  jealous  husband,  he  preferred,  on  many 
accounts,  that  such  meetings  should  be  avoided. 

The  slight  estrangement  spoken  of  did  not  wholly 
pass  away,  though  so  trifling  were  its  tokens  that  no  eye 
less  interested  than  our  own  might  have  noticed  their 
existence.  Indeed,  neither  of  the  parties  seemed  really 
angry  with  the  other,  appearing  rather  to  think  it  incum 
bent  on  them  to  keep  up  a  certain  show  of  coolness ;  but 
whenever  the  sunny  smile  of  Emily  broke  even  partially 
through  the  half-transparent  cloud,  it  dissolved  in  an 
instant  the  half-formed  ice  of  her  husband's  manner. 
By  mutual  consent  the  subject  of  the  fancy  ball  seemed 
left  in  abeyance,  and  while  in  every  circle,  for  miles 
round,  it  formed  the  central  topic,  in  ours  it  was  the 
theme  forbid.  Thence  we  tried  to  infer  that  it  was  a 
matter  abandoned,  and  that  Emily's  better  judgment,  if 
not  her  good  feeling,  had  determined  her  to  give  up  hef 
own  liking,  on  this  the  very  first  occasion  on  which,  wo 
believe,  her  husband  had  ever  thwarted  it. 

Well — whether,  as  with  us,  awaited  in  silence,  or,  as 
with  the  many,  harbirigered  by  the  music  of  many  voices 
• — the  grand  event  marched  on  ;  arid  a  day  was  only 
wanted  of  its  expected  arrival  when  business  called 

F to  London,  from  whence  he  was  not  to  return  till 

late  at  night.  Soon  after  his  departure,  which  followed 


238  A   SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

an  early  oreakfast,  we  left  Emily,  as  we  supposed,  tc 
the  business  of  her  little  household,  and  repaired,  as  was 
our  wont,  to  the  library, — a  small  apartment  which  our 
friend  F had  made  the  very  bijou  of  his  pretty  cot 
tage.  It  was  tastefully  fitted  up  in  the  gothic  style, 
with  a  window  of  painted  glass, — a  window,  by  the  way, 
especially  suited  to  a  book-room,  not  merely  as  pleasing 
to  the  eye  but  for  a  correspondence  which  has  often 
struck  us.  The  many-coloured  panes,  through  which  the 
light  of  day  finds  entrance,  form  no  unfitting  symbol  of 
a  library's  contents,  whereby  the  light  of  intelligence  is 
poured  upon  the  mind  through  as  many  varied  mediums, 
from  the  deep,  cold,  black  and  blue  of  learned  arid  sci 
entific  lore,  to  the  glowing  flame  colour  and  crimson  of 
poetry  and  romance.  Having  taken  down  a  choice  copy 
of  the  Faery  Queen,  we  committed  our  person  to  an 
ebony  arm-chair,  and  our  spirit  to  the  magic  guidance  of 
our  author's  fancy.  Obedient  to  its  leading,  we  were 
careering  somewhere  betwixt  earth  and  heaven,  when  a 
slight  noise  brought  us  down  for  a  moment  to  our  pro 
per  sphere ;  yet  hardly, — for  on  looking  up  we  beheld, 
standing  in  the  wake  of  a  coloured  sun-beam,  from  which, 
on  wings  of  gossamer,  she  seemed  to  have  just  descend 
ed,  an  unexpected  apparition  of  surpassing  grace  and 
beauty.  Titania's  self,  just  stepped  upon  the  moonlit 
earth,  could  scarcely  have  stood  poised  on  an  unbroken 
flower-stalk,  in  form  more  airy,  in  attitude  more  grace 
ful,  with  countenance  more  radiant  than  those  of  Emily 

F ,  as,  arrayed  in  likeness  of  the  Faery  Queen,  she 

thus  burst  upon  our  view,  and  with  an  air  half-archly 
playful,  half-proudly  triumphant,  enjoyed  our  bewildered 


A   SYLVAN    MORALITY.  239 

surprise,  and  received  the  involuntary  homage  of  our 
admiration. 

We  saw  in  a  moment  how  the  matter  stood ;  En.ily 
was  really  going  to  the  fancy  ball ;  and  this,  of  the 
Queen  of  Fays,  was  the  fantastic  and  too  bewitching 
costume  she  had  chosen  to  assume.  Knowing  her  kind 
heart,  and  having  believed  that  its  best  affections  haJ 
been  gained  by  her  estimable  husband,  if  not  bestowed 
on  him  at  first,  we  were  vexed  and  disappointed  in  our 
young  relation,  and  felt  it  only  right  to  give,  if  we  could, 
a  check  to  her  buoyant  vanity,  by  letting  her  feel  the 
weight  of  our  disapproval, — shown,  if  not  expressed. 
"So  I  see,  Emily,"  said  I,  in  the  coldest  tone,  "I  see, 
after  all,  that  you  are  going  to  this  foolish  ball." 

The  beaming  countenance  of  the  beautiful  sylph  dark 
ened  in  a  moment,  like  a  cosmoramic  landscape.  "  And 
why  not?"  returned  she,  pettishly;  "I  suppose,  then, 
you  don't  approve." 

"  My  approbation  can  be  of  very  little  import,  if  you 
possess  that  of  your  own  heart,  and  that  of  your  hus 
band.  Under  what  character,  pray,  does  he  attand  you  ? 
I  suppose  he  plays  Oberon  to  your  Titania?" 

Emily's  face  reddened.  Some  strong  emotion  heaved 
her  bosom,  and  I  saw  that  pride  alone  kept  the  starting 
tears  from  overflowing.  "  Charles,"  said  she,  with  an 
attempt  at  assumed  indifference,  "  will  not  be  there  at 
all ;  I  am  to  go  with  Lady  Forrester." 

We  felt  more  vexed  than  ever,  and  wished  to  s;iy 
something  which  might  yet  hinder  the  young  wife's  in 
tention  ;  but  while  considering  what  that  something 
should  be,  or  whether,  indeed,  our  age  and  slight  rela- 


240  A    SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

tionship  gave  a  sufficient  right  to  say  anything,  we  looted 
down  for  a  moment  on  our  still  open  book.  Of  that 
moment  Emily  availed  herself  to  effect  an  escape,  and 
on  raising  our  eyes  we  only  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
glittering  wings  as  she  glided  through  the  doorway.  Our 
first  impulse  was  to  recall  her ;  our  next  thought,  to  leave 
her  to  herself.  If  her  better  nature  still  struggled,  re 
monstrance  of  ours,  we  considered,  might  only  serve  to 
set  wounded  pride  against  it ;  and  wounded  passions, 
like  wounded  bravoes,  fight  most  desperately.  We  saw 
no  more  of  our  young  hostess  till  the  hour  of  dinner,  to 
which  we  sat  down  tete-a-tete.  Emily's  sweet  face  had 
regained  all  its  usual  expression  of  good  humour,  and 
by  almost  an  excess  of  attention,  and  an  effort  at  more 
than  ordinary  liveliness,  she  strove  to  make  amends  for 
the  slight  ebullition  of  temper  stirred  up  by  the  morn 
ing's  incident ;  but  her  sociability  seemed  forced,  and  we 
felt  that  our  own  was  much  of  the  same  description. 

Our  after-dinner  sitting  was  soon  ended  for  an  even 
ing  stroll.  It  had  been  a  sultry  day  towards  the  end 
of  August ;  the  lazy  zephyrs  had  been  all  asleep  since 
noontide  ;  so,  with  a  view  to  meet  the  first  of  them  which 
should  happen  to  be  stirring,  we  directed  our  steps  to 
wards  a  high  open  heath,  or  common.  Its  summit  was 
crowned  by  a  magnificent  beech,  towards  which  we  slowly 
ascended,  under  a  shower  of  darts  levelled  by  the  de 
clining  sun ;  and,  on  arriving  at  the  tree,  were  right  glad 
to  seat  ourselves  on  the  circular  bench  which  surrounded 
its  smooth  and  bulky  bole. 

Here,  in  addition  to  the  welcome  boons  of  rest  an-1 
shade,  we  were  presented  gratis  with  the  exhibition  of  a 


A  SUMMER  STROLL. 


A   SYLVAN    MORALITY.  241 

finer  panorama  than  the  Messrs.  Barker  ever  yet  pro 
duced. 

What  a  scene  of  tranquil  splendour  lay  before  us  ! 
one  of  those  glowing  pictures  of  the  declining  day  and 
declining  year,  whereon,  like  a  pair  of  dying  painters, 
they  seem  to  have  combined  their  utmost  skill  and  rich 
est  colours  in  order  to  exceed,  in  a  last  effort,  all  the 
productions  of  their  meridian  prime. 

After  a  few  moments  of  silent  admiration,  we  were  on 
the  point  of  exclaiming  to  our  young  companion,  "  Oh  ! 
who  could  prefer  the  most  brilliant  ball-room  to  a  scene 
like  this  ?"  but  we  checked  the  impulse ;  for  perhaps, 
thought  we,  the  "  still  small  voice,"  which  speaks  from 
all  around  us,  is  even  now  whispering  to  her  heart.  But 
never,  -we  believe,  was  adder  more  deaf  to  the  accents  of 
the  "  charmer"  than  was  Emily  at  that  moment  to  those 
of  nature.  Her  mind,  we  are  pretty  sure,  was  still  run 
ning,  and  all  the  faster  as  she  approached  it,  on  that 
fancy  ball.  Perhaps  she  suspected  that  ours  was  follow 
ing  the  same  turn,  and  knowing  of  old  our  habit  of 
making  observations  upon  insects,  she,  by  a  little  wo 
manly  artifice,  availed  herself  of  it  to  divert  their  course. 
Pointing  with  her  parasol  to  a  long  procession  of  brown 
ants,  which  were  crossing  the  foot-worn  area  beneath 
the  tree, — "Look,"  said  she,  "I  suppose  they  are  going 
home  to  bed." 

"Or  perhaps  to  a  ball,"  rejoined  we,  quite  unable  to 
resist  the  pleasure  of  taking  our  fair  cousin  in  her  own 
ruse;  "but  let  us  follow  them,  and  see." 

Emily  was  delighted  at  having,  as  she  thought,  so  in 
geniom-ly  set  us  on  our  hobby,  and  attended  us  to  the 
16 


242  A    SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

spot  ^hither  we  had  traced  the  little  labourers.  Their 
populous  settlement  bore  no  appearance  of  evening  repose. 
Other  trains  were  approaching  in  various  directions,  to 
meet  that  which  we  had  followed,  and  a  multitude  was 
covering  the  conical  surface  of  the  ant-hill,  as  if  taking 
a  farewell  bask  in  the  glowing  sunset.  Amidst  the  con 
gregated  many,  and  distinguished  from  the  common  herd 
by  very  superior  bulk  and  four  resplendent  wings,  were 
several  individual  ants,  which  Emily  (as  well  she  might) 
mistook  for  flies,  and  inquired  accordingly  what  could 
be  their  business  in  such  incongruous  society.  "  They 
are  no  flies,"  said  we,  "but  ants  themselves — female 
ants, — though  with  somewhat  of  the  air,  certainly,  of 
being  in  masquerade  or  fancy  costume.  But  say  what 
•we  will  of  their  attire,  we  must  needs  confess  that  they 
are  in  their  proper  places ;  for  they  are  the  matrons  of 
the  community,  and,  as  we  see,  they  are  at  home." 

Our  young  companion  made  no  reply ;  but  stooping 
down,  seemed  wholly  engrossed  by  examination  of  the 
ant-hill.  "  Look,"  exclaimed  she,  presently ;  "  there  is 
one  of  these  portly  dames  without  any  wings  at  all.  I 
suppose  some  of  her  neighbours  have  taken  up  a  spite 
against  her,  and  combined  to  strip  her  of  her  glittering 
appendages." 

"By  no  means,"  we  answered,  "she  has  laid  them 
aside  by  her  oivn  voluntary  act.  Only  see,  my  dear 
Emily,  here  is  one  of  her  sisters  even  now  employed  in 
the  business  of  disrobing." 

We  both  stooped,  and  watched  narrowly  the  curious 
operation  to  which  we  had  directed  our  young  friend's 
attention.  One  of  the  larger  insects  in  question  was 


A    SYLVAN   MORALITY.  243 

actively  employed  in  agitating  her  wings,  bringing  them 
before  her  head,  crossing  them  in  every  direction,  throw 
ing  them  from  side  to  side,  and  producing  so  many  sin 
gular  contortions  as  to  cause  them  all  four  to  fall  off  at 
the  same  moment,  leaving  her  reduced  to  the  same  con 
dition  as  her  wingless  sister.  Fatigued,  apparently,  by 
her  late  efforts,  she  reposed  awhile,  after  the  accomplish 
ment  of  her  purpose,  brushed  her  denuded  corselet  with 
her  feet,  and  then  proceeding  to  burrow  in  the  soft  earth 
of  the  hillock,  was  speedily  lost  to  our  observation. 
"  How  very  odd  !"  said  Emily  ;  "  what  can  possibly  be 
the  meaning  of  such  a  strange,  unnatural  proceeding  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  replied  we,  "  that  which  has  been 
thought  fully  to  explain  its  intention.  This  insect  fe 
male,  in  common  with  her  sisters,  has  hitherto  been 
privileged  to  lead  a  life  of  entire  indolence  and  pleasure. 
A  few  days  since,  having  risen  from  her  lowly  birth 
place  on  those  discarded  pinions,  we  might  have  seen 
her  disporting  in  the  air  with  some  gay  and  gallant  com 
panions,  of  inferior  size,  but  winged  like  herself.  But 
now  her  career  of  pleasure,  though  not  of  happiness, 
being  at  an  end,  her  life  of  usefulness  is  about  to  begin, 
and,  in  character  of  a  matron,  she  is  called  to  the  per 
formance  of  such  domestic  duties  as  will  henceforth  con 
fine  her  to  the  precincts  of  her  home. 

"  Of  what  use  now,  therefore,  are  the  glittering  wings 
which  adorned  and  became  her  in  her  earlier  youth? 
Their  possession  might  only,  perchance,  have  tempted 
her  to  desert  the  post  which  Nature,  under  Divine 
guidance,  has  instructed  her  to  fill.  Obedient  to  its 
teaching,  she  has  thus  despoiled  herself  of  the  showy 


244  A   SYLVAN    MORALITY. 

pinions  which  (essential  to  her  enjoyment  in  the  fields  of 
air)  would  only  have  encumbered  her  in  the  narrower 
but  more  important  sphere  of  home." 

Emily  listened  in  silence  to  our  lecture  on  Entomology, 
which  must  have  been  delivered,  we  suppose,  with  pecu 
liar  clearness,  as  she  did  not,  according  to  her  usual 
custom,  follow  it  up  by  any  further  inquiry  or  comment. 
We  soon  afterwards  bid  adieu  to  the  insect  community, 
and  wended  our  way  homewards. 

F returned  from  London  the  same  evening ;  but 

availing  ourselves  of  an  old  friend's  freedom,  we  had 
retired  to  bed  before  his  arrival. 

Next  morning  ushered  in  the  day,  "  the  great,  the 
important  day"  of  the  fancy  ball — neither  "  heavily" 
nor  "  in  clouds ;"  yet  greatly  did  we  fear  that  the  plea 
sant  sunshine  which  greeted  our  opening  eyes  would  be 
met  with  no  answering  beams  at  the  breakfast-table  of 
our  friends. 

How  agreeably,  therefore,  were  we  surprised,  when, 
on  entering  the  parlour,  we  at  once  perceived  an  expres 
sion  of  more  perfect  serenity  on  the  countenances  both 

of  F and  his  pretty  wife,  than  had  been  worn  by 

either  since  the  day  of  that  confounded  invitation. 

"  Ah  !"  thought  we,  "  it's  pretty  plain  how'the  matter 
is  ended  ;  that  wicked  little  fairy  has  wrought  her  charms 
for  something — has  carried  her  point — and  will  carry 
HIM,  her  willing  captive,  to  the  ball.  What  poor  weak 

fools  fond  husbands  are  !  Thank  heaven  that Well ! 

perhaps  better  so  than  worse." 

Breakfast  proceeded ;  chat  in  plenty ;  but  not  a  syl 
lable  about  the  fancy  ball ;  till,  bursting  to  know  how 


PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG    WIFE'S   DIARY.  245 

the  case,  so  long  pending,  had  really  ended,  we  ventured 
on  a  pumping  query — "  At  what  hour,  Emily,"  said  we, 
"  does  Lady  Forrester  come  to  take  you  to  the  ball  ?" 

"  I  have  written  to  prevent  her  calling." 

"  Oh,  then,  you  are  going  under  other  escort  ?"  and 
we  looked  slyly  at  F . 

"  I  am  not  going  at  all,"  said  Emily. 

Here  she  put  in  ours  her  little  white  hand,  and  looked 
up  archly  in  our  face, — '•'•lam  not  going,  for  I  have 
laid  aside  my  wings!" 

"  My  good  fellow !"  said  F ,  as  he  took  our  other 

hand  ;  "  you  deserve  to  be  made  President  of  the  Ento 
mological  Society." 


PASSAGES  FROM  A  YOUNG  WIFE'S  DIARY. 

THE  following  passages  from  the  diary  of  a  young 
English  wife  may  be  read  with  profit  here.  The  lesson 
taught  is  well  worth  treasuring  in  the  memory. 

May  1. — Just  three  months  to-day  since  William  and 
I  were  married.  What  a  happy  time  it  has  been,  and 
how  quickly  it  has  passed !  I  am  determined  to  begin 
and  keep  a  journal  again  as  I  used  to  do  before  I  mar 
ried,  if  it  be  only  to  mark  how  the  days  go  by — one 
happier  than  the  other.  How  different  from  the  days  of 
our  long  courtship,  \vhen  there  was  always  something  to 
be  anxious  about ;  whilst  now,  nothing  but  death  can 
ever  part  us,  and  it  seems  to  me  as  if  all  the  trials  of 


243  PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG   WIFF/S   DIARY. 

life  must  be  easy  to  bear  when  borne  together  Dear 
William  !  How  kind  he  has  been  to  me,  and  how 
cheerful  and  good-tempered  he  always  is.  He  was  say 
ing  only  this  morning  that  he  did  not  think  we  had  had 
a  single  tiff  since  we  married ;  and  I  am  sure  it  would 
have  been  my  fault  if  we  had.  Gratitude  alone  ought  to 
keep  me  from  quarrelling  with  William,  if  nothing  else 
would,  considering  all  he  has  done  for  me.  How  nice 
ho  made  this  place  ready  for  me  when  we  married !  I 
cannot  think  how  he  ever  contrived  to  save  enough  out 
of  his  salary  to  buy  such  handsome  furniture.  To  be 
sure  he  always  says  that  it  is  my  setting  it  off  so  well 
that  makes  it  look  better  than  it  is ;  and  yet,  except 
the  muslin  curtains  to  the  window,  and  the  table-cover, 
and  my  work-box,  and  the  flowers,  I  have  not  done 
much.  I  almost  wish  he  had  left  me  more  to  do,  for 
time  does  hang  heavy  on  my  hands  sometimes  when  he 
is  away.  I  wish  that  some  of  my  neighbours  would 
make  acquaintance  with  me  ;  for  I  know  no  one  here 
abouts.  That  Mrs.  Smith  who  lives  next  door,  looked 
towards  the  window  as  she  passed  this  morning,  and 
seemed  inclined  to  stop — I  only  wish  she  would ;  it 
would  be  so  pleasant  to  have  a  neighbour  occasionally 
coming  in  for  a  chat,  and  I  should  pick  up  a  bit  of  newa 
perhaps  to  tell  William  in  the  evening.  Now  I  think 
of  it,  I  will  just  go  up  stairs  and  take  a  look  at  his 
shirts  ;  it  is  just  possible  that  there  may  be  a  button  off, 
though  they  were  all  new  when  he  married ;  or  perhaps 
h:s  stockings  want  running  at  the  heels.  I  wonder  I 
Old  not  think  of  that  before.  There  is  nothing  like  pre 
venting  holes  from  coming. 


PASSAGES  FROM   A   YOU:«G   WIFE'S   DIARY.  247 

May  2. — Told  William  last  night  of  my  plan  of  keep 
ing  a  diary,  and  he  thinks  it  a  good  one,  and  has  given 
me  the  old  ledger,  in  which  he  says  I  can  scribble  away 
as  much  as  I  like.  And  really,  after  writing  so  much 
as.  I  used  for  Aunt  Morris,  it  is  easier  I  believe  for  me 
than  for  most  people  to  write  down  what  happens  each 
day  and  what  passes  in  my  mind.  To  my  great  sur 
prise,  who  should  come  in  this  morning  but  Mrs.  Smith, 
from  next  door !  One  would  think  she  had  peeped  over 
my  shoulder,  and  seen  what  I  wrote  about  her  yester 
day — but  she  says  that  she  has  long  been  thinking  of 
coming  in,  only  she  did  not  know  whether  I  should  be 
inclined  to  be  sociable.  She  seems  a  most  respectable 
and  pleasant  kind  of  person,  and  really  quite  superior 
to  the  other  people  in  the  lane.  She  said  she  felt  sure 
by  my  looks  as  she  had  seen  me  going  to  church  on 
Sunday  with  William,  that  I  was  not  a  common  sort  of 
person,  and  said  moreover  that  William  was  a  very 
genteel-looking  young  man,  and  remarkably  like  a 
nephew  of  hers  who  is  in  quite  a  large  way  of  business 
in  Manchester.  Mrs.  Smith  admires  my  room  very 
much,  only  she  says  her  house  has  an  advantage  over 
ours,  in  having  a  passage,  instead  of  the  front  door 
opening  into  the  room.  She  had,  in  fact,  a  partition 
put  up  after  she  came,  to  divide  one  off,  and  says  it  is 
astonishing  how  much  more  comfortable  it  makes  the 
place,  besides  looking  more  genteel.  I  have  often 
wondered  myself  that  William  did  not  choose  a  houso 
that  had  this  convenience,  and  I  am  sure  it  will  be  cold 
in  winter  to  have  the  door  opening  right  into  one's  room 
in  this  way,  besides  making  the  chimney  smoke.  Mrs. 


248  PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG   WIFE'S   DIARY. 

Smith  has  asked  me  to  look  in,  as  often  as  I  can,  and 
Bays  it  will  be  quite  a  charity  to  sit  with  her  now  and 
then,  she  is  so  lonely. 

May  3. — I  think  William  is  glad  that  I  am  at  liberty 
to  have  a  friendly  neighbour — only  he  says  he  is  afraid 
that  Mrs.  Smith  is  rather  above  us  in  the  world,  and 
might  not  suit  our  humble  ways.  I  do  not  think  this, 
however ;  but  if  it  were  so,  I  would  rather  associate 
with  those  who  are  above  me  than  below  me.  I  men 
tioned  to  William  what  she  told  me  about  the  altera 
tion  she  had  made  in  her  house,  but  he  did  not  seem  a? 
/•it:  he  thought  it  would  be  so  great  an  improvement 
After  breakfast  I  put  on  my  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  went 
in  to  Mrs.  Smith's.  She  keeps  a  little  maid-servant,  I 
find,  which  I  had  no  idea  of  before.  I  found  her  sitting 
at  work  quite  in  style,  and  really  it  is  quite  astonishing 
how  snug  her  house  seems  in  consequence  of  the  altera 
tion  she  has  made.  The  sitting-room  is  of  course  so 
much  smaller,  but  that  is  nothing  compared  to  the  com 
fort  of  the  passage ;  I  should  not  have  thought  that  the 
houses  could  ever  have  been  built  alike,  hers  is  so  supe 
rior  to  ours.  To  be  sure  the  style  of  her  furniture  is 
perhaps  better  than  ours,  and  the  papering  handsomer, 
and  her  carpet  goes  all  over  her  room,  and  she  has  a 
very  handsome  hearth-rug.  Altogether  I  could  not  help 
fancying  our  place  looked  quite  mean  and  shabby  after 
I  came  back.  But  then  I  said  to  myself,  that  William 
and  I  were  after  all  only  beginning  the  world,  and  who 
knows  what  we  may  not  be  able  to  do  by-and-by.  No 
thing  is  more  likely  than  that  William  should  have  hia 


PASSAGES   FROM   A  YOUNQ   WIFE'S   DIARY.  249 

salary  raised  in  a  year  or  two,  and  perhaps  some  day  go 
into  business  himself. 

May  4. — William  got  home  nice  and  early  last  night, 
and  read  aloud  to  me  for  more  than  an  hour.  It  was 
very  kind  of  him,  and  the  book  was  very  interesting, 
but  somehow  or  other  I  think  I  would  rather  have 
talked  to  him.  I  wanted  to  tell  him  several  things  that 
Mrs.  Smith  had  said  to  me — especially  about  the  put 
ting  up  of  that  partition  being  such  a  trifling  expense. 
I  did  get  it  said  at  last ;  but  it  is  astonishing  how  little 
he  seems  to  care  about  what  would  be  such  a  great  im 
provement  to  our  place.  Of  course  he  cannot  under 
stand  as  well  as  I  do  how  disagreeable  it  is  for  people 
to  be  coming  to  the  door,  and  lifting  the  latch  and  look 
ing  straight  in  at  me  as  I  sit  at  work — just  the  same  aa 
in  any  cottage  in  the  country.  I  think  William  rathei 
forgets  that  I  never  was  accustomed  to  this  kind  of 
thing  at  home.  Last  night  even,  when  the  postman 
came ;  if  he  had  not  been  so  anxious  to  read  his  letter, 
he  might  have  noticed  how  the  draught  from  the  open 
door  made  the  candle  flare,  and  the  tallow  ran  down  all 
over  my  nice  bright  candlestick.  The  letter  was  from 
his  father,  asking  him  to  give  a  couple  of  pounds  to 
wards  fitting  out  his  brother  George  for  Australia. 
William  means  to  send  it,  I  see,  and  really  I  am  very 
glad  that  he  can  assist  his  relations,  and  should  never 
think  of  saying  a  word  against  it — only  it  shows  that  he 
has  plenty  of  spare  money,  and  that  it  is  not  so  much 
the  expense  of  the  thing  that  makes  him  seem  to  dislike 
the  idea  of  altering  our  place.  He  keeps  saying,  "  My 
dear,  I  think  it  is  very  well  as  it  is,"  and  "My  dear,  it 


250  PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG    WIFE'S   DIARY. 

eecms  very  comfortable  to  me ;"  but  that  is  no  re;ison 
why  it  should  not  be  better,  as  I  tell  him. 

May  5.  —  Mrs.  Smith  came  in  this  morning  and 
brought  her  work,  to  have,  as  she  said,  a  friendly  gossip 
with  me.  She  is  really  a  most  pleasant  and  sociable 
person,  and  says  she  is  sure  we  shall  suit  each  ether  un 
commonly  well.  I  told  her  that  I  had  mentioned  to 
William  about  the  passage  she  had  contrived  to  her 
house,  but  that  he  did  not  seem  to  think  it  would  be  so 
great  an  improvement.  "I  dare  say  not,"  said  she, 
laughing  ;  "  husbands  very  often  don't  like  new  plans, 
unless  they  are  themselves  the  first  to  propose  them ; 
but  such  a  young  wife  as  you  ought  to  have  your  way 
in  such  a  matter."  I  took  care  to  tell  her  that  William 
was  the  kindest  and  most  good-natured  creature  in  the 
world,  and  that  no  husband  could  be  more  anxious  to 
please  a  wife.  "  Then,"  said  she,  "  if  that  be  the  case, 
take  my  word  for  it  he  will  end  by  making  the  alteration 
you  want."  This  quite  emboldens  me  to  say  a  little 
more  to  William  about  our  having  this  partition  put  up ; 
because  I  should  not  like  Mrs.  Smith  to  fancy  that  my 
wishes  have  no  weight  with  him.  I  will  see  what  I  can 
do  to-night  when  he  comes  liome. 

May  6. — I  am  afraid  I  vexed  William  last  night,  and 
only  wish  I  could  unsay  two  or  three  things  that  I  said 
about  the  making  of  this  passage.  I  begin  to  think  1 
was  foolish  to  get  such  a  fancy  into  my  head.  After 
tea,  just  as  he  was  going  to  open  out  his  book,  I  ventured 
to  say,  "  I  wish  you  would  talk  to-night,  dear  William, 
instead  of  read,  for  I  have  so  little  of  your  company." 
In  a  minute  he  had  shut  his  book,  and  drawn  his  cHan* 


PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG    WIFE'S   DIARY.  251 

up  to  mine,  and  said  so  good-naturedly,  "Well,  little 
Fanny,  and  what  shall  we  talk  about  ?"  that  I  felt  quite 
afraid  of  beginning  upon  the  subject  I  had  in  my  mind. 
By-and-by,  however,  I  broached  it,  and  said  I  really  had 
set  my  heart  upon  having  our  room  altered  like  Mrs. 
Smith's,  and  that  I  was  sure  it  would  be  done  for  very 
little  expense,  even  supposing  our  landlord  would  not  do 
it  for  us.  William  said  he  could  not  think  of  even  ask 
ing  him  to  do  it,  after  having  put  the  house  into  such 
complete  repair  when  we  came  here-;  and  he  added,  that 
he  had  fancied  that  I  was  pleased  with  the  place,  and 
thought  it  comfortable.  "  So  I  was,  dear  William,"  said 
I ;  "  but  I  had  no  idea  till  I  tried,  how  uncomfortable  it 
is  to  sit  in  a  room  with  a  front  door  opening  into  it  in 
this  way — it  is  like  sitting  in  the  street."  William  looked 
so  vexed  as  I  said  this,  I  did  not  speak  for  some  time. 
Then  all  at  once  he  said,  "  Well,  Fanny,  as  I  wish  you 
to  be  happy  and  comfortable,  I  suppose  you  must  have 
your  way  in  this  matter.  I  cannot  exactly  say  that  I 
cannot  afford  it,  because  you  know  I  do  not  spend  all 
my  salary  upon  housekeeping;  but  there  were  some 
books  that  I  thought  of  buying,  that,  after  all,  I  can 
wait  for  very  well : — So  if  you  like  to  speak  to  John 
Wilson,  I  dare  say  he  would  do  the  job  as  cheaply  as 
any  one — he  can  make  an  estimate  of  what  it  would  cost, 
and  let  me  know."  I  thanked  William,  most  heartily, 
for  his  consent,  and  I  am  sure  that  when  the  passage  is 
once  made,  he  will  be  as  pleased  as  any  one  with  the 
improvement.  And  yet  I  do  not  feel  quite  satisfied  at 
the  idea  of  his  going  without  his  books,  and  only  wish  he 
had  the  money  for  them  as  well. 


252  PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG    WIFE'S   DIARY. 

May  7. — Happening  to  see  John  Wilson  passing  down 
the  lane  on  the  way  to  his  work,  I  called  him  in  to  con 
sult  him  about  putting  up  the  partition.  He  made  a 
very  careful  measurement,  and  then  after  calculating 
•wood-work,  and  paint,  and  time,  he  said  he  thought  he 
could  do  it  for  two  pounds  ten.  1  thought  it  would  not 
have  been  more  than  two  pounds  at  most ;  but  I  had  for 
gotten  about  the  inner  door,  with  its  handle  and  hinges, 
&c.  It  seems  a  great  deal  of  money,  I  must  say.  Wil 
liam's  books  I  know  would  only  have  cost  thirty  shillings, 
for  I  have  a  list  of  them  that  he  made  one  evening. 

May  8. — Somehow  or  other  I  could  hardly  make  up 
my  mind  after  all,  last  night,  to  tell  William  about  John 
Wilson's  estimate ;  but  when  I  did  get  it  said,  he  made 
me  feel  quite  at  ease  by  the  open  way  in  which  he  talked 
about  it  with  me,  and  planned  it  all  just  as  if  he  thought 
it  as  desirable  as  I  do.  This  is  particularly  kind  of  him, 
because  I  know  he  thinks  all  the  time  that  we  could  do 
very  well  without  it.  Before  we  went  to  bed,  too,  he 
took  out  the-  little  purse  in  which  he  keeps  his  savings 
(the  very  purse  I  made  him  before  we  married),  and 
taking  out  the  .£2  10s.,  told  me  to  keep  the  money 
myself  ready  to  pay  John  Wilson,  as  he  said  he  might 
be  spending  it  perhaps  if  it  was  not  out  of  his  way. 
"You  know,"  said  he,  laughing,  "I  pass  the  book-shop 
every  evening  on  my  way  home,  and  I  cannot  answer 
for  myself."  I  could  not  help  feeling  very  much  thia 
kindness  of  William's  in  giving  up  his  wishes  so  readily 
to  mine  in  the  matter,  and  I  told  him  so — and  really  it  quite 
kept  me  awake  half  the  night  thinking  about  it.  I  think 
the  very  sight  of  that  purse  brought  back  to  my  reinem- 


PASSAGES   FROM   A   YOUNG   WIFE'S   DIARY.  253 

brance  how  I  used  to  say  to  myself  that  when  once  I 
was  William's  Avife  t  would  try  so  hard  to  make  him 
happy,  and  sacrifice  all  my  wishes  to  his.  I  began  to 
feel  that  after  all  it  would  not  make  me  half  as  happy 
to  have  my  own  way  as  for  him  to  be  pleased  with  rne ; 
and  in  spite  of  his  trying  not  to  let  me  see  it,  I  cannot 
help  fancying  that  he  was  a  little  hurt  at  my  being  dis 
contented  with  my  little  home,  that  had  given  me  such 
satisfaction  at  first  and  in  which  we  have  been  so  happy. 
I  begin  to  think  that  I  was  foolish  in  being  persuaded 
by  Mrs.  Smith  that  my  snug  little  house  wanted  any 
thing  to  complete  my  happiness.  Happiness !  How 
ridiculous  it  seems  to  write  that  word  in  connexion  with 
such  a  trifle  as  this.  As  if  William  and  I  were  not  too 
happy  to  care  about  whether  our  house  is  as  good  as  our 
neighbour's  !  I  am  determined  after  all  to  give  up  this 
affair  of  the  passage  altogether.  I  have  half  a  mind — 
nay,  I  am  quite  resolved,  to  spend  the  money  instead 
upon  those  books  for  William.  How  surprised  ho 
will  be ! 

Afternoon  of  the  same  day. — After  coming  to  the  de 
cision  I  did  this  morning,  I  put  on  my  things,  and  set 
off  into  the  town.  I  don't  think  I  ever  walked  faster 
than  I  did  to  that  bookseller's  shop.  Luckily  they  had 
all  the  books  I  wanted,  or  if  they  are  not  quite  right 
William  has  only  to  change  them  afterwards.  They  did 
not  cost  as  much  as  I  had  calculated,  too,  and  with  the 
discount  that  they  gave  me  I  had  enough  left  for  the 
little  hanging  bookshelves  that  William  took  such  a  fancy 
to  at  the  cabinet-maker's  the  other  day.  I  got  them  all 
home  this  afternoon — books  as  well  as  shelves — and  in 


254         HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

less  than  an  hour  after  their  arrival,  the  nail  was  knocked 
into  the  wall  opposite -the  fire-place ;  the  shelves  hung, 
and  all  the  books  arranged  upon  them.  How  nice  they 
look,  and  how  pleased  will  dear  William  be  when  he 
returns  !  I  declare  I  would  not  exchange  the  happiness 
I  now  feel  in  giving  him  pleasure  for  the  finest  house, 
with  the  grandest  entrance  to  it  too,  that  ever  was  built. 
Six  o'clock :  and  William  will  be  home  at  seven  ! 


HINTS  AND  HELPS  FOR  MARRIED  PARTNERS. 

AND  first,  let  us  speak  to  the  young  husband,  in  the 
words  of  the  author  of  that  excellent  little  volume,  "  A 
Whisper  to  a  Newly-Married  Pair." 

'Earnestly  endeavour  to  obtain  among  your  acquaint 
ance  the  character  of  a  good  husband  ;  and  abhor  that 
would-be  wit,  which  I  have  sometimes  seen  practised 
among  men  of  the  world — a  kind  of  coarse  jesting  on  the 
bondage  of  the  married  state,  and  a  laugh  at  the  shackles 
which  a  wife  imposes.  On  the  contrary,  be  it  your  pride 
to  exhibit  to  the  world  that  sight  on  which  the  wise  man 
passes  such  an  encomium  :  Beautiful  before  God  and 
n*en  are  a  man  and  his  wife  ihat  agree  together. 
(Ecclus.  xxv.  1.) 

Make  it  an  established  rule  to  consult  your  wife  on 
all  occasions.  Your  interest  is  hers:  and  undertake  no 
plan  contrary  to  her  advice  and  approbation.  Independ 
ent  of  better  motives,  what  a  responsibility  does  it  free 


HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.          255 

you  from  !  for,  if  the  affair  turn  out  ill,  you  are  spared 
reproaches  both  from  her  and  from  your  own  feelings. 
But  the  fact  is,  she  who  ought  to  have  most  influence  on 
her  husband's  mind,  is  often  precisely  the  person  who 
aas  least ;  and  a  man  will  frequently  take  the  advice  of 
a  stranger  who  cares  not  for  him  nor  his  interest,  in 
preference  to  the  cordial  and  sensible  opinion  of  his 
wife.  A  due  consideration  of  the  domestic  evils  such  a 
line  of  conduct  is  calculated  to  produce,  might,  one 
would  think,  of  itself  be  sufficient  to  prevent  its  adop; 
tion  ;  but,  independent  of  these,  policy  should  influence 
you ;  for  there  is  in  woman  an  intuitive  quickness,  a 
sagacity,  a  penetration,  and  a  foresight  into  the  probable 
consequences  of  an  event,  that  make  her  peculiarly 
calculated  to  give  her  opinion  and  advice. — "  If  I  was 
making  up  a  plan  of  consequences,"  said  the  great  Lord 
Bolingbroke,  "  I  should  like  first  to  consult  with  a 
sensible  woman." 

Have  you  any  male  acquaintance,  whom,  on  reasonable 
grounds,  your  wife  wishes  you  to  resign  ?  Why  should 
you  hesitate?  Of  what  consequence  can  be  the  civilities, 
or  even  the  friendship,  of  any  one,  compared  with  the 
wishes  of  her  with  whom  you  have  to  spend  your  life — 
whose  comfort  you  have  sworn  to  attend  to ;  and  who 
has  a  right  to  demand,  not  only  such  a  trifling  compli 
ance,  but  great  sacrifices,  if  necessary  ? 

Never  witness  a  tear  from  your  wife  with  apathy  or 
indifference.  Words,  looks,  actions — all  may  be  artifi 
cial  ;  but  a  tear  is  unequivocal ;  it  comes  direct  from  tho 
heart,  and  speaks  at  once  the  language  of  truth,  nature, 
and  sincerity  !  Be  assured,  when  you  see  a  tear  on  her 


256         HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIFD   PARTNERS. 

cheek,  her  heart  is  touched  ;  and  do  not,  I  again  repeat 
it,  do  not  behold  it  with  coldness  or  insensibility  ! 

It  is  very  unnecessary  to'  say  that  contradiction  is  to 
be  avoided  at  all  times  :  but  when  in  the  presence  of 
others,  be  most  particularly  watchful.  A  look,  or  word, 
that  perhaps,  in  reality,  conveys  no  angry  meaning,  may 
at  once  lead  people  to  think  that  their  presence  alone 
restrains  the  eruption  of  a  discord,  which  probably  has 
no  existence  whatsoever. 

Some  men,  who  are  married  to  women  of  inferior 
fortune  or  connexion,  will  frequently  have  the  meanness 
to  upbraid  them  with  the  disparity.  My  good  sir,  allow 
me  to  ask  what  was  your  motive  in  marrying  ?  Was  it 
to  oblige  or  please  your  wife  ?  No,  truly ;  it  was  to 
oblige  and  please  yourself,  your  own  dear  self.  Had 
she  refused  to  marry  you,  you  would  have  been  (in 
lover's  phrase)  a  very  miserable  man.  Did  you  never 
tell  her  so  ?  Therefore,  really,  instead  of  upbraiding 
her,  you  should  be  very  grateful  to  her  fcr  rescuing  you 
from  such  an  unhappy  fate. 

It  is  particularly  painful  to  a  woman,  whenever  her 
husband  is  unkind  enough  to  say  a  lessening  or  harsh 
word  of  any  member  of  her  family  :  invectives  against 
herself  are  not  half  so  wounding. 

Should  illness,  or  suffering  of  any  kind,  assail  your 
wife,  your  tenderness  and  attention  are  then  peculiarly 
called  for  ;  and  if  she  be  a  woman  of  sensibility,  believe 
me.  a  look  of  love,  a  word  of  pity  or  sympathy,  will,  at 
times,  have  a  better  effect  than  the  prescriptions  of  hei 
physicians. 

Perhaps    some    calamity,  peculiarly  her    own,  may 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOB   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         257 

befall  her.  She  may  weep  over  the  death  of  some  dear 
relative  or  friend ;  or  her  spirits  and  feelings  may  bo 
affected  by  various  circumstances.  Remember  that  your 
sympathy,  tenderness,  and  attention,  on  such  occasions, 
are  particularly  required. 

A  man  would  not,  on  any  account,  take  up  a  whip, 
or  a  stick,  and  beat  his  wife ;  but  he  will,  without  re 
morse,  use  to  her  language  which  strikes  much  deeper 
to  her  heart  than  the  lash  of  any  whip  he  could  make 
use  of.  "  He  would  not,  for  the  world,"  says  an  ingeni 
ous  writer,  "  cut  her  with  a  knife,  but  he  will,  without 
the  least  hesitation,  cut  her  with  his  tongue." 

I  have  known  some  unfeeling  husbands,  who  have 
treated  their  luckless  wives  with  unvaried  and  unremit 
ting  unkindness,  till  perhaps  the  arrival  of  their  last 
illness,  and  who  then  became  all  assiduity  and  attention. 
But  when  that  period  approaches,  their  remorse,  like  the 
remorse  of  a  murderer,  is  felt  too  late ;  the  die  is  cast ; 
and  kindness  or  unkindness  can  be  of  little  consequence 
to  the  poor  victim,  who  only  waits  to  have  her  eyes 
closed  m  the  long  sleep  of  death ! 

Perhaps  your  wife  may  be  destitute  of  youth  and 
beauty,  or  other  superficial  attractions  which  distinguish 
many  of  her  sex :  should  this  be  the  case,  remember 
many  a  plain  face  conceals  a  heart  of  exquisite  sensi 
bility  and  merit ;  and  her  consciousness  of  the  defect 
makes  her  peculiarly  awake  to  the  slightest  attention  cr 
inattention  from  you  :  and  just  for  a  moment  reflect — 

"  "What  is  the  blooming  tincture  of  the  skin, 
To  peace  of  mind  and  harmony  within? 
17 


258         HINTS   AND   HELPS    FOR    MARRIED    PARTNERS. 

What  the  bright  sparkling  of  the  finest  eye, 
To  the  soft  soothing  of  a  calm  reply  ? 
Can  loveliness  of  form,  or  look,  or  air. 
With  loveliness  of  words  or  deeds  compare? 
No :  those  at  first  the  unwary  heart  may  gain  ; 
But  these,  these  only,  can  the  heart  retain." 

Your  wife,  though  a  gentle,  amiable  creature,  may  V« 
deficient  in  mental  endowments,  and  destitute  of  fancy 
or  sentiment;  and  you,  perhaps  a  man  of  taste  and 
talents,  are  inclined  to  think  lightly  of  her.  This  is 
unjust,  unkind,  and  unwise.  It  is  not,  believe  me,  the 
•woman  most  gifted  by  nature,  or  most  stored  with  literary 
knowledge,  who  always  makes  the  most  comfortable  wife  ; 
by  no  means :  your  gentle,  amiable  helpmate  may  con 
tribute  much  more  to  your  happiness,  more  to  the  regu 
larity,  economy,  and  discipline  of  your  house,  and  may 
make  your  children  a  much  better  mother,  than  many  a 
brilliant  dame  who  could  trace,  with  Moore,  Scott,  and 
Byron,  every  line  on  the  map  of  taste  and  sentiment, 
and  descant  on  the  merits  and  demerits  of  poetry,  as  if 
she  had  just  arrived  fresh  from  the  neighbourhood  of 
Parnassus. 

Should  your  wife  be  a  woman  of  sense,  worth,  and 
cultivation,  yet  not  very  expert  at  cutting  out  a  shirt, 
or  making  paste,  pies,  and  puddings  (though  I  would 
not  by  any  means  undervalue  this  necessary  part  of 
female  knowledge,  or  tolerate  ignorance  in  my  sex  re 
specting  them),  yet  pray,  my  good  sir,  do  not,  on  this 
account  only,  show  discontent  and  ill-humour  towards 
her.  If  she  is  qualified  to  be  your  bosom  friend,  to 
advise,  to  comfort,  and  tp  soothe  you ; — if  she  can 


HINTS   AND    HELl'S   FOR   MARRIED    PARTNERS.          259 

instruct  your  children,  enliven  your  fireside  by  her  con 
versation,  and  receive  and  entertain  your  friends  in  a 
manner  which  pleases  and  gratifies  you; — be  satisfied: 
we  cannot  expect  to  meet  in  a  wife,  or  indeed  in  any 
one,  exactly  all  we  could  wish.  "I  can  easily,"  says  a 
sensible  friend  of  mine,  "  hire  a  woman  to  make  my 
linen  and  dress  my  dinner,  but  I  cannot  so  readily  pro 
cure  &  friend  and  companion  for  myself,  and  a  precep 
tress  for  my  children."  The  remark  was  called  forth 
by  his  mentioning  that  he  had  heard  a  gentleman,  the 
day  before,  finding  fault  with  his  wife,  an  amiable,  sen 
sible,  well-informed  woman,  because  she  was  not  clever 
at  pies,  puddings,  and  needle-work  !  On  the  other  hand, 
should  she  be  sensible,  affectionate,  amiable,  domestic, 
yet  prevented  by  circumstances  in  early  life  from 
obtaining  much  knowledge  of  books,  or  mental  cultiva 
tion,  do  not  therefore  think  lightly  of  her ;  still  remem 
ber  she  is  your  companion,  the  friend  in  whom  you  may 
confide  at  all  times,  and  from  whom  you  may  obtain 
counsel  and  comfort. 

Few  wromen  are  insensible  of  tender  treatment;  and 
I  believe  the  number  of  those  is  small  indeed  who  would 
not  recompense  it  with  the  most  grateful  returns.  They 
are  naturally  frank  and  affectionate ;  and,  in  general, 
there  is  nothing  but  austerity  of  look  and  distance  of 
behaviour,  that  can  prevent  those  amiable  qualities  from 
being  evinced  on  every  occasion.  There  are,  probably, 
but  few  men  who  have  not  experienced,  during  the 
intervals  of  leisure  and  reflection,  a  conviction  of  this 
truth.  In  the  hour  of  absence  and  of  solitude,  who  has 
not  felt  his  heart  cleaving  to  the  wife  of  his  bosom  ?  wli<- 


260         HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR    MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

Las  not  been,  at  some  seasons,  deeply  impressed  with  a 
sense  of  her  amiable  disposition  and  demeanour,  of  her 
unwearied  endeavours  to  promote  and  perpetuate  his 
happiness,  and  of  its  being  his  indispensable  duty  to 
show,  by  the  most  unequivocal  expressions  of  attachment 
and  of  tenderness,  his  full  approbation  of  her  assiduity 
and  faithfulness  ?  But  lives  not  he  that  has  often  re 
turned  to  his  habitation  fully  determined  to  requite  the 
kindness  he  has  constantly  experienced,  yet,  notwith 
standing,  has  beheld  the  woman  of  his  heart  joyful  at 
his  approach  without  even  attempting  to  execute  his 
purpose  ? — who  has  still  withheld  the  rewards  of  esteem 
and  affection  ;  and,  from  some  motive,  the  cause  of  which 
I  never  could  develop,  shrunk  from  the  task  of  duty, 
and  repressed  those  soft  emotions  which  might  have 
gladdened  the  breast  of  her  that  was  ever  anxious  to 
please,  always  prompt  to  anticipate  his  desires,  and  eager 
to  contribute  everything  that  affection  could  suggest,  or 
diligence  perform,  in  order  to  promote  and  perpetuate 
his  felicity? 

When  absent,  let  your  letters  to  your  wife  be  warm 
and  affectionate.  A  woman's  heart  is  peculiarly  formed 
for  tenderness  ;  and  every  expression  of  endearment 
from  the  man  she  loves  is  flattering  and  pleasing  to  her. 
With  pride  and  pleasure  does  she  dwell  on  each  assur 
ance  of  his  affection :  and,  surely,  it  is  a  cold,  unmanly 
thing,  to  deprive  her  virtuous  heart  of  such  a  cheap  and 
easy  mode  of  gratifying  it.  But,  really,  a  man  should 
endeavour  not  only  for  an  affectionate,  but  an  agreeable 
manner  of  writing  to  his  wife.  I  remember  hearing  a 
lady  say,  "  When  my  husband  writes  to  me,  if  he  can 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED  PARTNERS.         261 

at  all  glean  out  any  little  piece  of  good  news,  or  pleasing 
intelligence,  he  is  sure  to  mention  it."  Another  lady 
used  to  remark,  "  My  husband  does  not  intend  to  give 
me  pain,  or  to  say  anything  unpleasant  when  he  writes ; 
and  yet,  I  don't  know  how  it  is,  but  I  never  received  a 
letter  from  him,  that  I  did  not,  when  I  finished  it,  feel 
comfortless  and  dissatisfied." 

I  really  think  a  husband,  whenever  he  goes  from  home, 
should  always  endeavour,  if  possible,  to  bring  back  some 
little  present  to  his  wife.  If  ever  so  trifling  or  value 
less,  still  the  attention  gratifies  her ;  and  to  call  forth  a 
smile  of  good-humour  should  be  always  a  matter  of 
importance. 

Every  one  who  knows  anything  of  the  human  mind, 
agrees  in  acknowledging  the  power  of  trifles,  in  impart 
ing  either  pain  or  pleasure.  One  of  our  best  writers, 
speaking  on  this  subject,  introduces  the  following  sweet 
lines : — 

"  Since  trifles  make  the  sum  of  human  things, 
And  half  our  misery  from  those  trifles  springs, 
0  !  let  the  ungentle  spirit  learn  from  thence, 
A  small  unkindness  is  a  great  offence. 
To  give  rich  gifts  perhaps  we  wish  in  vsyn, 
But  all  may  shun  the  guilt  of  giving  pain."' 

So  much  of  happiness  and  comfort  in  the  wedded  life 
depends  upon  the  wife,  that  we  cannot  too  often  nor  too 
earnestly  engnge  her  thoughts  on  the  subject  of  her  du 
ties.  Duty,  to  some,  is  a  cold,  repulsive  word,  but  only 
in  the  discharge  of  duties  that  appertain  to  each  con 
dition  in  life,  is  happiness  ever  secured.  From  the 
*'  Whisper"  we  copy  again  : — 


262         HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

*  Endeavour  to  make  your  husband's  haV.tation  allur 
ing  and  delightful  to  him.  Let  it  be  to  him  a  sanctuary 
to  which  his  heart  may  always  turn  from  the  ills  and 
anxieties  of  life.  Make  it  a  repose  from  his  cares,  a 
shelter  from  the  world,  a  home  not  for  his  person  only, 
but  for  his  heart.  He  may  meet  with  pleasure  in  other 
houses,  but  let  him  find  happiness  in  his  own.  Should 
he  be  dejected,  soothe  him ;  should  he  be  silent  and 
thoughtful,  or  even  peevish,  make  allowances  for  the 
defects  of  human  nature,  and,  by  your  sweetness,  gen 
tleness,  and  good  humour,  urge  him  continually  to  think, 
though  he  may  not  say  it,  "  This  woman  is  indeed  a 
comfort  to  me.  I  cannot  but  love  her,  and  requite  such 
gentleness  and  affection  as  they  deserve." 

I  know  not  two  female  attractions  so  captivating  to 
men  as  delicacy  and  modesty.  Let  not  the  familiar 
intercourse  which  marriage  produces,  banish  such  power 
ful  charms.  On  the  contrary,  this  very  familiarity 
should  be  your  strongest  incitement  in  endeavouring  to 
preserve  them  ;  and,  believe  me,  the  modesty  so  pleasing 
in  the  bride,  may  always,  in  a  great  degree,  be  supported 
by  the  wife. 

"  If  possible,  let  your  husband  suppose  you  think 
him  a  good  -husband,  and  it  will  be  a  strong  stimulus 
to  his  being  so.  As  long  as  he  thinks  he  possesses  the 
character,  he  will  take  some  pains  to  deserve  it :  but 
when  he  has  once  lost  the  name,  he  will  be  very  apt  to 
abandon  the  reality  altogether."  I  remember  at  one 
time  being  acquainted  with  a  lady  who  was  married  to  a 
very  worthy  man.  Attentive  to  all  her  comforts  and 
wishes,  he  was  just  what  the  world  calls  a  very  good 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         205 

husband ;  and  yet  his  manner  to  his  wife  was  cold  and 
comfortless,  and  he  was  constantly  giving  her  heart, 
though  never  her  reason,  cause  to  complain  of  him.  But 
she  was  a  woman  of  excellent  sense,  and  never  upbraided 
him.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  every  cause  for  supposing 
she  thought  him  the  best  husband  in  the  world ;  and  the 
consequence  was,  that  instead  of  the  jarring  and  discord 
which  would  have  been  inevitably  produced  had  she  been 
in  the  habit  of  finding  fault  with  him,  their  lives  passed 
on  in  uninterrupted  peace. 

I  know  not  any  attraction  which  renders  a  woman  at 
all  times  so  agreeable  to  her  husband,  as  cheerfulness 
or  good  humour.  It  possesses  the  powers  ascribed  to 
magic :  it  gives  charms  where  charms  are  not ;  and  im 
parts  beauty  to  the  plainest  face.  Men  are  naturally 
more  thoughtful  and  more  difficult  to  amuse  and  please 
than  women.  Full  of  cares  and  business,  what  a  relax 
ation  to  a  man  is  the  cheerful  countenance  and  pleasant 
voice  of  the  gentle  mistress  of  his  home !  On  the  con 
trary,  a  gloomy,  dissatisfied  manner  is  a  poison  of 
affection ;  and  though  a  man  may  not  seem  to  notice  it, 
it  is  chilling  and  repulsive  to  his  feelings,  and  he  will  be 
very  apt  to  seek  elsewhere  for  those  smiles  and  that 
cheerfulness  which  he  finds  not  in  his  own  house. 

In  the  article  of  dress,  study  your  husband's  taste, 
and  endeavour  to  wear  what  he  thinks  becomes  you  best. 
The  opinion  of  others  on  this  subject  is  of  very  little 
consequence,  if  he  approves. 

Make  yourself  as  useful  to  him  as  you  can,  and  let 
him  see  you  employed  as  much  as  possible  in  economical 
avocations. 


264          HINTS   AND   HELPS    FOR   MARRIED  PARTNERS. 

At  dinner,  endeavour  to  have  his  favourite  dish  dressed 
and  served  up  in  the  manner  he  likes  best.  In  observing 
8uel>  trifles  as  these,  believe  me,  gentle  lady,  you  study 
your  own  comfort  just  as  much  as  his. 

Perhaps  your  husband  may  occasionally  bring  home 
an  unexpected  guest  to  dinner.  This  is  not  at  all  times 
convenient.  But  beware,  gentle  lady,  beware  of  frowns. 
Your  fare  at  dinner  may  be  scanty,  but  make  up  for  the 
deficiency  by  smiles  and  good  humour.  It  is  an  old  re 
mark,  "  Cheerfulness  in  the  host  is  always  the  surest  and 
most  agreeable  mode  of  welcome  to  the  guest."  Per 
haps,  too,  unseasonable  visiters  may  intrude,  or  some 
one  not  particularly  welcome  may  come  to  spend  a  few 
days  with  you.  Trifling  as  these  circumstances  may  be, 
they  require  a  command  of  feeling  and  temper :  but  re 
member,  as  you  journey  on,  inclination  must  be  conti 
nually  sacrificed ;  and  recollect  also,  that  the  true  spirit 
of  hospitality  lies  (as  an  old  writer  remarks),  not  in 
giving  great  dinners  and  sumptuous  entertainments,  but 
in  receiving  with  kindness  and  cheerfulness  those  who 
come  to  you,  and  those  who  want  your  assistance. 

Endeavour  to  feel  pleased  Avith  your  husband's  bache 
lor  friends.  It  always  vexes  and  disappoints  a  man 
when  his  wife  finds  fault  with  his  favourites — the  favour 
ites  and  companions  of  his  youth,  and  probably  those  to 
whom  he  is  bound  not  only  by  the  ties  of  friendship,  but 
by  the  cords  of  gratitude. 

Encourage  in  your  husband  a  desire  for  reading  aloud 
at  night.  When  the  window  curtains  are  drawn,  the 
candles  lighted,  and  you  are  all  seated  after  tea  round 
the  fire,  how  can  his  time  be  better  employed  ?  You 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

have  your  work  to  occupy  you :  he  has  nothing  to  do 
but  to  sit  and  to  think ;  and  perhaps  to  think  too  that 
this  family  scene  is  extremely  stupid.  Give  interest  to 
tin  monotonous  hour,  by  placing  in  his  hand  some  enter 
taining  but  useful  work.  The  pleasure  which  you  derive 
from  it  will  encourage  him  to  proceed ;  while  remarks 
on  the  pages  will  afford  improving  and  animating  topics 
for  conversation. 

Is  he  fond  of  music  ?  When  an  appropriate  moment 
occurs,  sit  down  with  cheerfulness  to  your  piano  or  harp; 
recollect  the  airs  that  are  wont  to  please  him  most,  and 
indulge  him  by  playing  those  favourite  tunes.  Tell  me, 
gentle  lady,  when  was  your  time  at  this  accomplishment 
so  well  devoted  ?  While  he  was  your  lover,  with  what 
readiness,  and  in  your  very  best  manner,  would  you 
touch  the  chords;  and  on  every  occasion  what  pains  did 
you  take  to  captivate  !  And  now  that  he  is  become 
your  husband  (methinks  at  this  moment  I  see  a  blush 
mantling  in  your  cheek),  now  that  he  is  your  husband, 
has  pleasing  him  become  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
you? 

Particularly  shun  what  the  world  calls  in  ridicule, 
"Curtain  lectures."  When  you  both  enter  your  room 
at  night,  and  shut  to  your  door,  endeavour  to  shut  out 
at  the  same  moment  all  discord  and  contention,  and  look 
on  your  chamber  as  a  retreat  from  the  vexations  of  the 
world,  a  shelter  sacred  to  peace  and  affection. 

I  canr.Dt  say  I  much  approve  of  man  and  wife  at  all 
times  opening  each  other's  letters.  There  is  more,  I 
think,  of  vulgar  familiarity  in  this  than  of  delicacy  or 
confidence.  Besides,  a  sealed  letter  is  sacred ;  and 


266         HINTS  AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

every  one  likes  to  have  the  first  reading  of  his  or  her 
own  letters. 

Perhaps  your  husband  may  be  fond  of  absenting  him 
self  from  home,  and  giving  to  others  that  society  which 
you  have  a  right  to  expect :  clubs,  taverns,  &c..  &*., 
may  be  his  favourite  resort.  In  this  case  it  may  per 
haps  be  necessary  to  have  recourse  to  mild  reasoning; 
but  never — I  again  repeat — never  to  clamorous  dispute. 
And  the  fonder  he  seems  of  quitting  his  home,  the 
greater  should  be  your  effort  to  make  yourself  and  your 
fireside  agreeable  to  him.  This  may  appear  a  difficult 
task ;  but  I  recommend  nothing  that  I  have  not  myself 
seen  successfully  practised.  I  once  knew  a  lady  who 
particularly  studied  her  husband's  character  and  dispo 
sition  ;  and  I  have  seen  her,  when  he  appeared  sullen, 
fretful,  and  inclined  to  go  out,  invite  a  friend,  or  per 
haps  a  few  friends,  to  spend  the  evening,  prepare  for 
him  at  dinner  the  dish  she  knew  he  liked  best,  and  thus, 
by  her  kind,  cheerful  manner,  make  him  forget  the 
peevishness  which  had  taken  possession  of  him.  Believe 
it  from  me,  and  let  it  take  deep  root,  gentle  lady,  in  your 
mind,  that  a  good-humoured  deportment,  a  comfortable 
fireside,  and  a  smiling  countenance,  will  do  more  towards 
keeping  your  husband  at  home  than  a  week's  logic  on 
the  subject. 

Is  he  fond  of  fishing,  fowling,  &c.  ?  When  those 
amusements  do  not  interfere  with  business  or  matters 
of  consequence,  what  harm  can  result  from  them  ? 
Strive  then  to  enter  into  his  feelings  with  regard  to  the 
pleasure  which  they  seem  to  afford  him,  and  endeavour 
to  feel  interested  in  his  harmless  accounts  and  chat  re 


HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         207 

spelling  them.  Let  his  favourite  dog  be  jour  favourite 
also ;  and  do  not  with  a  surly  look,  as  I  have  seen  some 
wives  put  on,  say,  in  his  hearing,  "  That  Cato,  or  Rover, 
or  Rangnr,  is  the  most  troublesome  dog  and  the  greatest 
pest  in  the  world." 

If  the  day  he  goes  out  on  these  rural  expeditions  be 
cold  or  wet,  do  not  omit  having  his  shirt  and  stockings 
aired  for  him  at  the  fireside.  Such  little  attentions 
never  fail  to  please ;  and  it  is  well  worth  your  while  to 
obtain  good  humour  by  such  easy  efforts. 

Should  he  be  obliged  to  go  to  some  distant  place  or 
foreign  land,  at  once  and  without  indecision,  if  circum 
stances  render  it  at  all  practicable,  let  your  determina 
tion  be  made  in  the  beautiful  and  expressive  language 
of  Scripture :  JEntreat  me  not  to  leave  thee,  nor  to  return 
from  following  after  thee :  for  whither  tJiou  goest,  I  will 
go  ;  and  where  thou  lodgest,  1  will  lodge :  thy  people 
shall  be  my  people,  and  thy  G-od  my  Grod.  Where  thou 
diest  will  I  die,  and  there  will  I  be  buried ;  the  Lord 
do  so  to  me^  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death  part  thee 
and  me.  (Ruth  i.  16,  17.)  If  his  lot  be  comfortless, 
why  not  lessen  those  discomforts  by  your  society  ?  and 
if  pleasure  and  gayety  await  him,  why  leave  him  exposed 
to  the  temptations  which  pleasure  and  gayety  produce  ? 
A  woman  never  appears  in  so  respectable  a  light,  never 
to  so  much  advantage,  as  when  under  the  protection  of 
her  husband. 

Even  occasional  separations  between  man  and  wife  I 
am  no  friend  to,  when  they  can  be  avoided.  It  is  not 
to  your  advantage,  believe  me,  gentle  lady,  to  let  him 
set  Ii •;•>,'  well  he  can  do  without  you.  You  may  pro- 


268         HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

bably  say,  "Absence  is  at  times  unavoidable."  Granted: 
I  only  contend  such  intervals  of  absence  should  be  short, 
and  occur  as  seldom  as  possible. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  your  luckless  lot  to  be  united  to 
an  unkind  husband — a  man  who  cares  not  whether  he 
pleases  or  displeases,  whether  you  are  happy  or  unhappy. 
If  this  be  the  case,  hard  is  your  fate,  gentle  lady,  very 
hard !  But  the  die  is  cast ;  and  you  must  carefully 
remember  that  no  neglect  of  duty  on  his  part  can  give 
a  legitimate  sanction  to  a  failure  of  duty  on  yours.  The 
sacredness  of  those  ties  which  Hnd  you  as  a  wife  remain 
equally  strong  and  heavy,  whatever  be  the  conduct  of 
your  husband ;  and  galling  as  the  chain  may  be,  you 
must  only  endeavour  for  resignation  to  bear  it,  till  the 
Almighty,  by  lightening  it,  pleases  to  crown  your  gentle 
ness  and  efforts  with  success. 

When  at  the  Throne  of  Grace  (I  address  you  as  a 
religious  woman),  be  fervent  and  persevering  in  your 
prayers  for  your  husband ;  and  by  your  example  endea 
vour  to  allure  him  to  that  heaven  towards  which  you  are 
yourself  aspiring :  that,  if  your  husband  obey  not  the 
word,  as  the  sacred  writer  says,  he  may,  without  the  word, 
be  won  by  the  conversation  (or  conduct)  of  the  wife. 

Your  husband,  perhaps,  may  be  addicted  to  gambling, 
horse-racing,  drinking,  &c.  These  are  serious  circum 
stances  ;  and  mild  remonstrances  must  be  occasionally 
used  to  oppose  them ;  but  do  not  let  your  argument  rise 
to  loud  or  clamorous  disputing.  Manage  your  opponent 
lik^  a  skilful  general,  and  constantly  watching  the  appro 
priate  moment  for  retreat.  To  convince  without  irritat 
ing,  is  one  of  the  most  difficult  as  well  as  most  desirable 


HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR    MARRIED   PARTNERS.          209 

points  of  argument.  Perhaps  this  may  not  be  in  your 
power:  at  all  events,  make  the  attempt,  first  praying  to 
God  for  direction,  and  then  leaving  to  him  the  result. 

Or,  gentle  lady,  you  may,  perhaps,  be  united  to  a  man 
of  a  must  uncongenial  mind,  who,  though  a  very  good 
sort  of  husband,  differs  from  you  in  every  sentiment. 
What  of  this  ?  You  must  only  make  the  best  of  it. 
Look  around.  Numbers  have  the  same  and  infinitely 
worse  complaints  to  make ;  and,  truly,  when  we  consider 
what  real  misery  there  is  in  the  world,  it  seems  the 
height  of  folly  fastidiously  and  foolishly  to  refine  away 
our  happiness,  by  allowing  such  worthless  trifles  to 
interfere  with  our  comfort. 

There  are  very  few  husbands  so  bad  as  to  be  destitute 
of  good  qualities,  and  probably  very  decided  ones.  Let 
the  wife  search  out  and  accustom  herself  to  dwell  on 
those  good  qualities,  and  let  her  treat  her  own  errors, 
not  her  husband's,  with  severity.  I  have  seldom  known 
a  dispute  between  man  and  wife  in  which  faults  on  both 
sides  were  not  conspicuous ;  and  really  it  is  no  wonder ; 
for  we  are  so  quick-sighted  to  the  imperfections  of  others, 
so  blind  and  lenient  to  our  own,  that  in  cases  of  discord 
and  contention,  we  throw  all  the  blame  on  the  opposite 
party,  and  never  think  of  accusing  ourselves.  In  gene 
ral,  at  least,  this  is  the  case. 

I  was  lately  acquainted  with  a  lady,  whose  manner  to 
her  husband  often  attracted  my  admiration.  Without 
appearing  to  do  so,  she  would  contrive  to  lead  to  those 
subjects  in  which  he  appeared  to  most  advantage.  When 
ever  he  spoke,  she  seemed  to. listen  as  if  what  he  was 
Baying  was  of  importance.  And  if  at  any  time  she  dif 


270         HINTS  AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

fered  from  him  in  opinion,  it  was  done  so  gently  as 
scarcely  to  be  perceived  even  by  himself.  She  was  quite 
as  well  informed  (perhaps  more  so)  and  as  sensible  as 
himself,  and  yet  she  always  appeared  to  think  him  supe 
rior  in  every  point.  On  all  occasions  she  would  refer  to 
him,  asking  his  opinion,  and  appearing  to  receive  infor 
mation  at  the  very  moment,  perhaps,  she  was  herself 
imparting  it.  The  consequence  was,  there  never  was  a 
happier  couple,  and  I  am  certain  he  thought  her  the 
most  superior  woman  in  the  world. 

I  repeat,  it  is  amazing  how  trifles — the  most  insig 
nificant  trifles — even  a  word,  even  a  look, — yes,  truly,  a 
look,  a  glance — completely  possess  the  power,  at  times, 
of  either  pleasing,  or  displeasing.  Let  this  sink  deep 
into  your  mind :  remember,  that  to  endeavour  to  keep  a 
husband  in  constant  good  humour  is  one  of  the  first 
duties  of  a  wife. 

Perhaps,  on  some  occasion  or  other,  in  the  frolic  of 
the  moment,  without  in  the  least  degree  intending  to 
annoy  you,  your  husband  may  toy,  and  laugh,  and  flirt, 
while  in  company,  with  some  pretty  girl  present.  This 
generally  makes  a  wife  look  foolish ;  and  it  would  be  as 
well,  nay,  much  better,  if  he  did  not  do  so.  But  let  not 
a  shade  of  ill  humour  cross  your  brow,  nor  even  by  a 
glance  give  him  or  any  one  present,  reason  to  think  his 
behaviour  annoys  you.  Join  in  the  laugh  and  chat,  and 
be  not  outdone  in  cheerfulness  and  good  humour  by  any 
of  the  party.  But  remember,  gentle  lady,  there  must 
be  no  acting  in  this  affair :  the  effort  must  extend  to 
your  mind  as  well  as  your  manner;  and  a  moment's 
reasoning  on  the  subject  will  at  once  restore  the  banished 


HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR    MARRIED   PARTNERS.          27 1 

sunshine.  The  incomparable  Leighton  says,  "  The 
human  heart  is  like  a  reservoir  of  clear  water,  at  the 
bottom  of  which  lies  a  portion  of  mud'  stir  the  mud, 
and  the  water  gets  all  sullied.  In  like  manner  does 
some  strong  passion  or  peevish  feeling  rise  in  the  heart, 
and  stain  and  darken  it  as  the  mud  does  the  water." 
But  should  there  be  a  prospect  of  your  husband  often 
meeting  with  this  lady  in  question,  endeavour  at  once  to 
break  off  the  intimacy  by  bringing  forward  some  pretext 
consistent  with  truth  (for  to  truth  everything  must  be 
sacrificed),  such  as,  You  do  not  like  her;  The  intimacy 
is  not  what  you  would  wish,  &c.  Never,  however,  avow 
the  real  reason :  it  will  only  produce  discord,  and  make 
your  husband  think  you  prone  to  jealousy — a  suspicion 
a  woman  cannot  too  carefully  guard  against.  And  there 
is  often  in  men  an  obstinacy  which  refuses  to  be  con 
quered  of  all  beings  in  the  world  by  a  wife.  A  jealous 
wife  (such  is  the  erroneous  opinion  of  the  ill-judging 
world)  is  generally  considered  a  proper  subject  for  ridi 
cule ;  and  a  woman  ought  assiduously  to. conceal  from 
her  husband,  more  than  from  any  one  else,  any  feeling 
of  the  kind.  Besides,  after  all,  gentle  lady,  your  sus 
picions  may  be  totally  groundless;  and  you  may  possibly 
be  tormenting  yourself  with  a  whole  train  of  imaginary 
evils.  As  you  value  your  peace,  then,  keep  from  you, 
if  possible,  all  such  vexatious  apprehensions,  and  remem 
ber,  a  man  can  very  ill  bear  the  idea  of  being  suspected 
of  inconstancy  even  when  guilty  ;  but  when  innocent,  it 
is  intolerable  to  him.' 

Dr.  Boardman,  in  his  excellent  "  Hints  Dn  Domestic 


272         HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

Happiness,"  has  uttered  a  timely  warning  against  the 
depraving  influence  of  Clubs,  to  which  some  young  mar 
ried  men  resort,  to  their  own  injury  and  the  destruction 
of  domestic  peace. 

*  I  have  to  do,  at  present,'  he  says, '  with  certain  "  avoca 
tions  and  habits  which  contravene  the  true  idea  of  home, 
and  are  prejudicial  to  domestic  happiness."  I  have 
spoken  at  some  length,  in  this  view,  of  a  life  of  fashion 
able  dissipation,  particularly  in  its  influence  upon  the 
female  sex.  The  whole  range  of  public  amusements 
might  fairly  be  considered  as  within  the  sweep  of  my 
subject ;  but  there  is  one  topic  which  it  will  not  do  to 
pass  by.  Equal  justice  ought,  in  a  series  of  lectures 
like  this,  to  be  meted  out  to  both  sexes ;  and  I  feel 
bound  to  say  a  few  words  in  respect  to  CLUBS. 

One  reason  why  I  do  this  has  been  given.  A  second 
is,  that  in  so  far  as  large  cities  are  concerned,  one  can 
hardly  sever  the  mental  association  which  links  together 
Clubs  and  domestic  happiness — or  unhappiness.  I  bring 
against  these  institutions  no  wholesale  ienunciation.  I 
neither  say  nor  believe  that  all  who  belong  to  them  are 
men  of  profligate  character.  I  cannot  doubt  that  they 
comprise  individuals  not  only  of  high  social  standing, 
but  of  great  personal  worth.  But  in  dealing  with  the 
institutions  themselves,  I  must  be  permitted  to  express 
the  conviction  that  they  are  unfavourable  to  the  culture 
of  the  domestic  affections,  and  hurtful  to  the  morals  and 
manners  of  society.  That  this  is  the  common  opinion 
respecting  them  is  beyond  a  question.  Of  the  respect 
able  people  who  pass  by  any  fashionable  Club-IIouse  in 
an  evening,  the  thoughts  of  a  very  large  proportion  are 


I 
HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR    MARRIED   PARTNERS.         273 

pobably  directed,  for  the  moment,  with  the  most  inten 
sity,  to  the  homes  of  its  tenantry,  with  the  feeling, 
"  Those  would  be  happier  homes  if  this  establishment 
were  out  of  the  way." 

The  mildest  conception  of  these  associations  which 
any  one  can  insist  upon,  is  that  given  by  Mr.  Addison, 
who  says,  "  Our  modern'  celebrated  Clubs  are  founded 
opon  eating  and  drinking,  which  are  points  wherein 
most  men  agree,  and  in  which  the  learned  and  the  illite 
rate,  the  dull  and  the  airy,  the  philosopher  and  the  buf 
foon,  can  all  of  them  bear  a  part."  They  must  be 
greatly  scandalized  if  billiards  and  cards  do  not  enter 
AS  largely  into  the  recreations  they  supply,  as  eating 
and  drinking.  There  must  be  some  potent  attractions 
which  can  draw  a  set  of  gentlemen  away  from  all  other 
scenes  and  engagements,  domestic  and  social,  moral  and 
religious,  literary  and  political,  and  hold  them  together 
to  a  late  hour,  for  many  nights  in  succession.  If  it  ia 
eocial  reading,  the  authors  they  read  may  well  be  flat 
tered  with  the  honours  paid  them.  If  it  is  conversation, 

"  The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  s'oul," 

the  talkers  must  have  rare  conversational  powers.  If 
\t  is  politics,  the  country  must  have  zealous  patriots 
among  her  sons.  If  it  is  science,  no  wonder  that  under 
the  pressure  of  this  prodigious  research,  the  lightning 
Icmls  its  wings  to  knowledge,  that  the  subjugated  ejirth 
hastens  to  reveal  its  deep  arcana  to  mortal  eyes,  and 
that  planet  after  planet  should  come  forth  out  of  the 
unfathomable  abyss  of  space,  and  submit  to  be  mea 
sured,  and  v  eighed,  and  chronicled,  as  their  older  sistcra 
18 


274         HINTS  AND   HELPS   FOh    MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

have  been.  But  this  is  going  too  far  even  for  the  charity 
which  "believeth  all  things."  Those  who  have  never 
been  initiated  into  the  penetralia  of  these  institutions, 
know  enough  of  them  to  be  satisfied  that  they  are  not 
precisely  schools  of  science — or,  if  they  are,  that  the 
sciences  they  exult  in,  are  not  those  which  soar  towards 
heaven,  but  those  which  have  to  do  with  the  auriferous 
bowels  of  the  earth,  and  the  full-fed  cattle  upon  its 
surface. 

To  come  more  directly  to  the  point,  the  allegation 
made  against  these  Clubs — made  in  the  name  of  ten 
thousand  injured  wives  and  mothers  and  children — is, 
that  they  become  a  sort  of  RIVAL  HOME  to  the  home 
they  occupy ;  that  the  influence  they  exert  over  their 
members,  loosens  their  domestic  ties,  indisposes  them  to 
their  domestic  duties,  and  not  unfrequently  seduces 
them  into  habits  of  intemperance  and  gambling.  The 
clients  I  represent  in  this  argument  contend  that  they 
are  an  unnecessary  institution — that  where  gentlemen 
wish  to  associate  together  for  literary  purposes,  there 
are  always  within  their  reach  lyceums,  athenseums, 
libraries,  and  societies  without  number ;  and  that  as 
to  social  relaxation,  it  can  be  had  without  setting  up 
a  quasi-ttionastery.  They  urge  with  truth  that  any 
course  of  social  amusements  pursued  systematically  and 
earnestly  by  a  combination  of  gentlemen,  to  the  exclu 
sion  of  ladies,  will  as  really  tend  to  impair,  as  the  com 
panionship  of  cultivated  women  does  to  refine,  the  man 
ners,  and  the  sensibilities  of  the  heart ;  that,  as  a  matter 
of  fact,  those  who  become  addicted  to  these  coarser  plea 
sures,  lose  their  relish  for  the  best  female  society ;  and 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         275 

that  the  old  home  sinks  in  their  esteem,  as  the  new  one 
rises.  These  charges,  which  cannot  be  gainsayed,  bear 
not  only  upon  married  men,  but  young  men ;  for  the 
tastes  and  habits  fostered  by  the  Cluln,  are  precisely 
those  which  go  to  alienate  them  from  the  paternal  roof, 
and  to  unfit  them  to  become  heads  of  families. 

After  noting  down  my  own  reflections  on  this  subject, 
I  met  with  some  observations  upon  it  by  an  eminent 
female  writer  (the  best  writer,  probably,  that  sex  has 
produced),  which  one  portion  of  my  hearers,  as  least, 
will  thank  me  for  quoting:  they  are  graphic,  forcible, 
and  suggestive :  "  The  Clubs  generate  and  cherish  luxu 
rious  habits,  from  their  perfect  ease,  undress,  liberty, 
and  inattention  to  the  distinctions  of  rank ;  they  pro 
mote  a  love  of  play,  and,  in  short,  every  temper  and 
spirit  which  tends  to  undomesticate  ;  and  what  adds  to 
the  mischief  is,  all  this  is  attained  at  a  cheap  rate  com 
pared  with  what  may  be  procured  at  home  in  the  same 
style.  A  young  man  in  such  an  artificial  state  of 
society,  accustomed  to  the  voluptuous  ease,  refined  luxu 
ries,  soft  accommodations,  obsequious  attendance,  and 
all  the  unrestrained  indulgences  of  a  fashionable  Club, 
is  not  to  be  expected  after  marriage  to  take  very  cor 
dially  to  a  home,  unless  very  extraordinary  exertions 
are  made  to  amuse,  to  attach,  and  to  interest  him ;  and 
he  is  not  likely  to  lend  a  helping  hand  to  the  union, 
whose  most  laborious  exertions  have  hitherto  been  little 
more  than  a  selfish  stratagem  to  reconcile  health  with 
pleasure.  Excess  of  gratification  has  only  served  to 
make  him  irritable  and  exacting;  it  will,  of  course,  bo 
no  part  of  His  project  to  make  sacrifices — he  will  expect 


276        HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

to  receive  them ;  and,  what  would  appear  incredihle  to 
the  Paladins  of  gallant  times,  and  the  Chevaliers  Preux 
of  more  heroic  days,  even  in  the  necessary  business  of 
establishing  himself  for  life,  he  sometimes  is  more  dis 
posed  to  expect  attentions  than  to  make  advances." 
"  These  indulgences,  and  this  habit  of  mind,  gratify  so 
many  passions,  that  a  woman  can  never  hope  success 
fully  to  counteract  the  evil  by  supplying,  at  home,  grati 
fications  which  are  of  the  same  kind,  or  which  gratify 
the  same  habits.  Now  a  passion  for  gratifying  vanity, 
and  a  spirit  of  dissipation,  is  a  passion  of  the  same 
kind;  and,  therefore,  though  for  a  few  weeks,  a  man 
who  has  chosen  his  wife  in  the  public  haunts  of  fashion, 
and  this  wife  a  woman  made  up  of  accomplishments,  may, 
from  the  novelty  of  the  connexion  and  of  the  scene,  con 
tinue  domestic;  yet,  in  a  little  time  she  will  find  that 
those  passions  to  which  she  has  trusted  for  making  plea 
sant  the  married  life  of  her  husband,  will  crave  the  still 
higher  pleasures  of  the  Club  ;  and  while  these  are  pur 
sued,  she  will  be  consigned  over  to  solitary  evenings  at 
home,  or  driven  back  to  the  old  dissipations." 

If  there  is  any  real  foundation  for  these  strictures,  it 
cannot  excite  your  surprise  that  in  vindicating  the 
domestic  constitution,  these  associations  should  be 
arraigned  and  condemned  as  tending  to  counteract  it3 
beneficent  operation.  The  Family  is  a  divine  ordinance. 
It  is  God's  institution  for  training  men.  It  is  vitally 
connected  with  the  destinies  of  individuals  and  nations. 
Whatever  interferes,  therefore,  with  its  legitimate  influ-> 
ence,  must  be  criminal  in  God's  sight,  and  a  great  social 
evil.  On  this  ground,  Clubs  are  to  be  reprobated.  They 


HINTS   AND    HELPh    FOR    MARRIED   PARTNERS.          277 

ore  unfavourable  to  the  domestic  virtues.  They  make 
no  man  a  better  husband  or  father,  a  better  son  or  bro 
ther.  If  some  have  mixed  in  them  without  being  con 
taminated,  this  is  more  than  can  be  said  of  all.  They 
have  inspired  many  a  man  with  a  disrelish  for  his  home; 
have  made  many  a  young  wife  water  her  couch  witL 
tears ;  and  kept  many  a  widowed  mother  walking  her 
parlours  in  lonely  anguish  till  after  midnight,  awaiting 
the  return  of  her  wayward  son  from  the  card- table. 
Does  it  become  a  community,  who  would  guard  their 
homes  as  they  do  their  altars,  because  they  know  their 
altars  will  not  long  be  worth  guarding  if  their  homes  are 
desecrated  to  encourage  CLUBS  ?' 

The  following  should  be  read  by  every  woman  in  the 
country,  married  or  unmarried — yes,  it  should  be  com 
mitted  to  memory  and  repeated  three  times  a  day,  for  it 
contains  more  truth  than  many  volumes  that  have  been 
written  on  the  subject : — 

4  How  often  we  hear  a  man  say,  I  am  going  to  Califor 
nia,  Australia,  or  somewhere  else.  You  ask  him  the 
reason  of  his  going  away,  and  the  answer  is,  in  nine 
cases  out  of  ten,  I  am  not  happy  at  home.  I  have  been 
unfortunate  in  business,  and  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
try  my  luck  in  California.  The  world  seems  to  go 
against  me.  While  fortune  favoured  me,  there  were 
those  whom  I  thought  to  be  my  friends,  but  when  the 
'Hcale  turned,  they  also  turned  the  cold  shoulder  against 
me.  My  wife,  she  that  should  have  been  the  first  to 
have  stood  by  me,  and  encourage  me,  was  first  to  point 
the  finger  of  scorn  and  say,  "  It  is  your  own  fault ;  why 


2/8          HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

Ws  this  or  that  one  been  so  fortunate?  If  you  had 
attended  to  your  business  as  they  have,  you  would  not 
be  where  you  are  now."  These  and  other  like  insinua 
tions,  often  drive  a  man  to  find  other  society,  other 
pleasures,  in  consequence  of  being  unhappy  at  home. 
He  may  have  children  that  he  loves;  he  cannot  enjoy 
life  with  them  as  he  would;  he  may  love  them  as  dearly 
as  ever ;  yet  home  is  made  unpleasant  in  consequence 
of  that  cold  indifference  of  the  wife.  Now,  I  would  say 
to  all  such  wives,  sisters,  and  in  fact,  all  females,  deal 
gently  with  him  that  is  in  trouble ;  remember  that  he  is 
very  easily  excited.  A  little  word,  carelessly  thrown 
out,  may  inflict  a  wound  time  never  can  heal.  Then  be 
cautious ;  a  man  is  but  human — therefore  he  is  liable  to 
err.  If  you  see  him  going  wrong,  ever  meet  him  with  a 
smile,  and  with  the  kiss  of  affection  ;  show  that  you  love 
him  by  repeated  acts  of  kindness ;  let  your  friendship 
be  unbounded ;  try  to  beguile  his  unhappy  hours  in 
pleasant  conversation.  By  so  doing,  you  may  save 
yourself  and  children  from  an  unhappy  future. 

When  a  man  is  in  trouble,  it  is  but  a  little  word  that 
may  ruin  him;  it  is  but  a  little  word  that  may  save  him.' 

Marriage,  says  Jeremy  Taylor,  is  the  proper  scene 
of  piety  and  patience  ;  of  the  duty  of  parents  and  the 
charity  of  relations.  Here  kindness  is  spread  abroad, 
and  love  is  united  and  made  firm  as  a  centre.  Marriage 
is  the  nursery  of  Heaven.  The  virgin  sends  prayers  to 
God,  but  she  carries  but  one  soul  to  him  ;  but  the  stato 
of  marriage  fills  up  the  numbers  of  the  elect,  and  hath 
m  it  the  labour  of  love  and  the  delicacies  of  friendship, 


HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         279 

the  blessing  of  society,  and  the  union  of  hands  and 
hearts.  It  hath  in  it  less  of  beauty  but  more  of  safety 
than  the  single  life ;  it  hath  more  ease  but  less  danger ; 
it  is  more  merry  and  more  sad ;  it  is  fuller  of  sorrows 
and  fuller  of  joys ;  it  lies  under  more  burdens,  but  is 
supported  by  all  the  strengths  of  love  and  charity,  and 
those  burdens  are  delightful.  Marriage  is  the  mother 
of  the  world,  and  preserves  kingdoms,  and  fills  cities 
and  churches,  and  Heaven  itself.  Celibole,  like  the  fly 
in  the  heart  of  an  apple,  dwells  in  perpetual  sweetness, 
but  sits  alone,  and  is  confined  and  dies  in  singularity ; 
but  marriage,  like  the  useful  bee,  builds  a  house,  and 
gathers  sweetness  from  every  flower,  and  labours  and 
unites  into  societies  and  republics,  and  sends  out  colo 
nies,  and  feeds  the  world  with  delicacies,  and  obeys  their 
king,  and  keeps  order,  and  exercises  many  virtues,  and 
promotes  the  interest  of  mankind,  and  is  that  state  of 
good  things  to  which  God  hath  designed  the  present 
constitution  of  the  world. 

-  The  every-day  married  lad^  is  the  inventor  of  a  thing 
which  few  foreign  nations  have  as  yet  adopted  either  in 
their  houses  or  languages.  This  thing  is  "comfort." 
The  word  cannot  well  be  defined ;  the  items  that  enter 
into  its  composition  being  so  numerous,  that  a  description 
would  read  like  a  catalogue.  We  all  understand  how 
ever  what  it  means,  although  few  of  us  are  sensible  of 
the  source  of  the  enjoyment.  A  widower  has  very  little 
comfort,  and  a  bachelor  none  at  all — ;while  a  married 
man,  provided  his  wife  be  an  every-day  married  lady— 
*njoys  it  in  perfection.  But  he  enjoys  it  unconsciously, 


280          HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARKED   PARTNERS. 

and  therefore  ungratefully ;  it  is  a  thing  of  course — a 
necessary,  a  right,  of  the  want  of  which  he  complains 
without  being  distinctly  sensible  of  its  presence.  Even 
when  it  acquires  sufficient  intensity  to  arrest  his  atten 
tion,  when  his  features  and  his  heart  soften,  and  he  looks 
round  with  a  half  smile  on  his  face,  and  says,  "  This  is 
comfort !"  it  never  occurs  to  him  to  inquire  where  it  all 
comes  from.  His  every-day  wife  is  sitting  quietly  in 
the  corner ;  it  was  not  she  who  lighted  the  fire,  or 
dressed  the  dinner,  or  dreAv  the  curtains ;  and  it  never 
occurs  to  him  to  think  that  all  these,  and  a  hundred 
other  circumstances  of  the  moment,  owe  their  virtue  to 
her  spiriting ;  and  that  the  comfort  which  enriches  tho 
atmosphere,  which  sparkles  in  the  embers,  which  broods 
in  the  shadowy  parts  of  the  room,  which  glows  in  his 
own  full  heart,  emanates  from  her,  and  encircles  her 
like  an  aureola. 

"When  once  a  woman  is  married,  when  once  she  has 
enlisted  among  the  matrons  of  the  land ;  let  not  her 
fancy  dream  of  perpetual  admiration  ;  let  her  not  be 
sketching  out  endless  mazes  of  pleasure.  The  mistress 
of  a  family  has  ceased  to  be  a  girl.  She  can  no  longer 
be  frivolous  or  childish  with  impunity.  The  angel  of 
courtship  has  sunk  into  a  woman  ;  and  that  woman  will 
be  valued  principally  as  her  fondness  lies  in  retirement, 
and  her  pleasures  in  the  nursery  of  her  children.  And 
woe  to  the  mother  who  is  obliged  to  abandon  her  chil 
dren  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day  to  hirelings — 
no,  not  obliged ;  for  there  is  no  duty  so  imperious,  no 
social  convenience  or  fashionable  custom  so  commanding, 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR    MARRIED    PARTNERS.          281 

as  to  oblige  her  to  such  shameful  neglect :  for  maternal 
care,  let  her  remember,  supersedes  all  other  duties. 

In  the  matrimonial  character  which  you  have  now 
assumed,  gentle  lady,  no  longer  let  your  fancy  wander 
to  scenes  of  pleasure  or  dissipation.  Let  home  be  now 
your  empire,  your  world!  Let  home  be  now  the  sole 
scene  of  your  wishes,  your  thoughts,  your  plans,  your 
exertions.  Let  home  be  now  the  stage  on  which,  in  the 
varied  character  of  wife,  of  mother,  and  of  mistress, 
you  strive  to  act  and  shine  with  splendour.  In  its  s»oer, 
quiet  scenes,  let  your  heart  cast  its  anchor,  let  your 
feelings  and  pursuits  all  be  centred.  And  beyond  the 
spreading  oaks  that  shadow  and  shelter  your  dwelling, 
let  not  your  fancy  wander.  Leave  to  your  husband  to 
distinguish  himself  by  his  valour  or  his  talents.  Do  you 
seek  for  fame  at  hcme  ;  and  let  the  applause  of  your  God, 
of  your  husband,  of  your  children,  and  your  servants, 
weave  for  your  brow  a  never-fading  chaplet. 

An  ingenious  writer  says,  "  If  a  painter  wished  to 
draw  the  very  finest  object  in  the  world,  it  would  be 
the  picture  of  a  wife,  with  eyes  expressing  the  serenity 
of  her  mind,  and  a  countenance  beaming  with  benevo 
lence  ;  one  hand  lulling  to  rest  on  her  bosom  a  lovely 
infant,  the  other  employed  in  presenting  a  moral  page 
to  a  second  sweet  baby,  who  stands  at  her  knee,  listen 
ing  to  the  words  of  truth  and  wisdom  from  its  incom- 

o 

parable  mother." 

I  am  a  peculiar  friend  to  cheerfulness.  Not  that  kind 
of  cheerfulness  which  the  wise  man  calls  the  mirth  of 
fwfy  —always  laughing  and  talking,  exhausting  itself 
in  jests  and  puns,  and  then  sinking  into  silence  and 


ZbU          HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

gloom  when  the  object  that  inspired  it  has  disappeared. 
No — no  !  The  cheerfulness  I  would  recommend  must 
belong  to  the  heart,  and  be  connected  with  the  temper, 
and  even  with  the  principles.  Addison  says,  "  I  cannot 
but  look  on  a  cheerful  state  of  mind  as  a  constant,  ha 
bitual  gratitude  to  the  great  Author  of  nature.  An 
inward  cheerfulness  is  an  implicit  praise  and  thanksgiv 
ing  to  Providence  under  all  its  dispensations :  it  is  a 
kind  of  acquiescence  in  the  state  wherein  we  are  placed, 
a..'  i  secret  approval  of  the  Divine  Will  in  his  conduct 
towards  us."  I  think  there  is  something  very  lovely  in 
seeing  a  woman  overcoming  those  little  domestic  dis 
quiets  which  every  mistress  of  a  family  has  to  contend 
with  ;  sitting  down  to  her  breakfast-table  in  the  morning 
with  a  cheerful,  smiling  countenance,  and  endeavouring 
to  promote  innocent  and  pleasant  conversation  among 
her  little  circle.  But  vain  will  be  her  amiable  efforts  at 
cheerfulness,  if  she  be  not  assisted  by  her  husband  and 
the  other  members  around  ;  and  truly  it  is  an  unpleasant 
sight  to  see  a  family  when  collected  together,  instead  of 
enlivening  the  quiet  scene  with  a  little  good-humoured 
chat,  sitting  like  so  many  statues,  as  if  each  was  un 
worthy  of  the  attention  of  the  other.  And  then,  Avhen 
a  stranger  comes  in,  0  dear !  such  smiles,  and  anima 
tion,  and  loquacity  !  "  Let  my  lot  be  to  please  at  home," 
eays  the  poet ;  and  truly  I  cannot  help  feeling  a  con 
temptuous  opinion  of  those  persons,  young  or  old,  male 
or  female,  who  lavish  their  good  humour  and  pleasantry 
in  company,  and  hoard  up  sullenness  and  silence  for  the 
{sincere  and  loving  group  which  compose  their  fireside. 


HINTS   AND   HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS.         283 

They  do  not  behold  home  with  the  same  eyes  as  did  the 
writer  of  the  following  lines  : — 

"  '  Home's  the  resort  of  love,  of  joy,  of  peace ;' 
So  says  the  bard,  and  so  say  truth  and  grace ; 
Home  is  the  scene  where  truth  and  candour  move, 
The  only  scene  of  true  and  genuine  love. 
1  To  balls  and  routs  for  fame  let  others  roam, 
Be  mine  the  happier  lot  to  please  at  home.' 
Clear  then  the  stage :  no  scenery  we  require, 
Save  the  snug  circle  round  the  parlour  fire; 
And  enter,  marshall'd  in  procession  fair, 
Each  happier  influence  that  governs  there ! 
First,  Love,  by  Friendship  mellow'd  into  bliss, 
Lights  the  warm  glow,  and  sanctifies  the  kiss ; 
When,  fondly  welcom'd  to  the  accustom'd  seat, 
In  sweet  complacence  wife  and  husband  meet ; 
Look  mutual  pleasure,  mutual  purpose  share, 
Repose  from  labours  to  unite  in  care ! 
Ambition!  does  Ambition  there  reside? 
Yes :  when  the  boy,  in  manly  mood  astride, 
With  ruby  lip  and  eyes  of  sweetest  blue, 
And  flaxen  locks,  and  cheeks  of  rosy  hue, 
(Of  headstrong  prowess  innocently  vain), 
Canters  ; — the  jockey  of  his  father's  cane: 
While  Emulation  in  the  daughter's  heart 
Bears  a  more  mild,  though  not  less  powerful,  part, 
With  zeal  to  shine  her  little  bosom  warms, 
And  in  the  romp  the  future  housewife  forms: 
Think  how  Joy  animates,  intense  though  meek, 
The  fading  roses  on  their  grandame's  cheek, 
When,  proud  the  frolic  children  to  survey, 
She  feels  and  owns  an  interest  in  their  play ; 
Tells  at  each  call  the  story  ten  times  told, 
And  forwards  every  wish  their  whims  unfold." 


284          HINTS   AND    HELPS   FOR   MARRIED   PARTNERS. 

"  To  be  agreeable,  arid  even  entertaining,  in  our  family 
circle,"  says  a  celebrated  writer,  "  is  not  only  a  positive 
duty,  but  an  absolute  morality." 

We  cannot  help  quoting  the  following  passage  from 
Miss  II.  More,  as  an  admirable  illustration  of  true  sweet 
ness  of  temper,  patience,  and  self-denial — qualities  so 
essential  in  a  wife  and  mistress  of  a  family : — "  Remember, 
that  life  is  not  entirely  made  up  of  great  evils,  or  heavy 
trials,  but  that  the  perpetual  recurrence  of  petty  evils 
and  small  trials  is  the  ordinary  and  appointed  exercise 
of  Christian  graces.  To  bear  with  the  feelings  of  those 
about  us,  with  their  infirmities,  their  bad  judgments, 
their  ill-breeding,  their  perverse  tempers — to  endure 
neglect  where  we  feel  we  have  deserved  attention,  and 
ingratitude  where  we  expected  thanks — to  bear  with  the 
company  of  disagreeable  people,  whom  Providence  has 
placed  in  our  way,  and  whom  he  has  perhaps  provided 
on  purpose  for  the  trial  of  our  virtue — these  are  the  best 
exercise ;  and  the  better  because  not  chosen  by  our 
selves.  To  bear  with  vexations  in  business,  with  dis 
appointments  in  our  expectations,  with  interruptions  in 
our  retirement,  with  folly,  intrusion,  disturbance,  in  short, 
with  whatever  opposes  our  will  and  contradicts  our 
humour — this  habitual  acquiescence  appears  to  be  the 
very  essence  of  self-denial.  These  constant,  inevitable, 
but  inferior  evils,  properly  improved,  furnish  a  good 
moral  discipline,  and  might  well,  in  the  days  of  ignorance, 
have  superseded  pilgrimage  and  penance."  Another 
remark  of  the  same  author  is  also  excellent :  "  To  sustain 
a  fit  of  si  *kness  may  exhibit  as  true  a  heroism  as  to  lead 
an  army  To  bear  a  deep  affliction  well,  calls  for  as 


THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE.  235 

high  exertion  of  soul  as  to  storm  a  town ;  and  to  meet 
death  with  Christian  resolution,  is  an  act  of  courage  in 

7  -  O 

which  many  a  woman  has  triumphed,  and  many  a  j-hilo- 
Enpher,  and  even  some  generals,  have  failed." 


THREE  WAYS  OF  MANAGING  A  WIFE. 

"  I  allude  to  that  false  and  contemptible  kind  of  decision  which 
we  term  obstinacy ; — a  stubbornness  of  temper  which  can  assign 
no  reasons  but  mere  will,  for  a  constancy  which  acts  in  the  nature 
of  dead  weight,  rather  than  strength — resembling  less  the  reaction 
of  a  powerful  spring,  than  the  gravitation  of  a  big  stone." 

FOSTER'S  ESSAYS. 

"  I  HAVE  said,  Mrs.  Wilson,  that  it  is  my  will  to  have 
it  so,  arid  I  thought  you  knew  me  well  enough  to  know 
that  my  will  is  unalterable.  Therefore,  if  you  please, 
let  rne  hear  no  more  about  it." 

"  But,  my  dear  husband,  the  boy " 

"But,  madam,  I  assure  you  there  is  no  room  for  luts 
in  the  matter.  Am  I  not  master  of  my  own  house,  and 
fully  capable  of  governing  it?" 

"Yes,  certainly,  my  dear,  only  I  happen  to  know 
something  about  this  school,  which  I  think  would  influ 
ence  you  in  forming  a  judgment,  if  you  would  listen  to 
rne  for  a  moment." 

"  My  judgment  is  already  formed,  madarn,  and  is  not 
likely  to  be  altered  by  anything  a  woman  coul  1  say. 
You  may  be  a  very  good  judge  of  the  merits  of  a  pud- 


286  THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE. 

ding,  or  the  size  of  a  stocking,  but  this  is  a  matter  in 
\vhich  I  do  not  wish  for  any  advice." 

So  Master  James  Wilson,  a  little,  delicate,  backward 
boy  of  ten  years,  was  sent  to  a  large  public  school,  in 
which  the  amount  of  study  required  was  so  much  beyond 
his  ability,  and  the  rules  so  severe,  that  the  heavy  penal 
ties  daily  incurred,  seriously  affected  both  his  health  and 
happiness.  It  was  with  an  aching  heart  that  the  fond 
mother  saw  him  creeping  slowly  to  school  in  the  morning 
with  a  pale  and  dejected  countenance,  and  returning 
home,  fatigued  in  body,  soured  in  spirit,  and  rapidly 
learning  to  detest  the  very  sight  of  his  books,  as  the 
instruments  of  his  wretchedness.  The  severity  of  the 
husband  and  father  had  in  this  instance  produced  its 
usual  unhappy  effect,  by  tempting  Mrs.  Wilson  to  inju 
dicious  indulgence  of  her  son  in  private,  and  the  per 
petual  oscillations  between  the  extremes  of  harshness 
and  fondness  thus  experienced,  rendered  the  poor  boy  a 
weak  and  unprincipled  character,  anxious  only  to  escape 
the  consequences  of  wrongdoing,  without  any  regard  to 
the  motives  of  his  conduct. 

Not  many  months  after  his  entrance  into  the  public 
school,  he  was  violently  thrown  to  the  ground  during 
recess,  by  an  older  boy,  and  his  limb  so  much  injured 
by  the  fall,  that  a  long  and  dangerous  illness  was  the 
Consequence.  Mrs.  Wilson  was  extremely  desirous  to 
try  the  effects  of  the  cold  water  treatment  on  the  diseased 
limb,  but  her  husband  had  adopted  a  system  of  his  own, 
composed  of  all  the  most  objectionable  features  of  othor 
systems,  and  would  not  relinquish  such  an  opportunity 
of  testing  his  skill  as  a  physician.  The  child  waa 


THREE   WAFS   OF   MANAGING    A   WIFE.  287 

accordingly  steamed  and  blistered  until  the  inflammation 
became  frightful ;  and  then  cupping,  leeching,  &c.,  were 
resorted  to,  without  any  other  effect  than  greatly  t( 
icduco  the  strength  of  the  patient. 

"  Husband,"  Mrs.  Wilson  ventured  at  last  to  say, 
"the  poor  child  is  getting  worse  every  day;  and  if  he 
lives  through  it,  will,  I  fear,  lose  his  limb ;  will  you  nrt 
try  what  Dr.  S.  can  do  with  the  cold-water  treatment  ?" 

"  If  I  could  be  astonished  at  any  degree  of  folly  on 
the  part  of  a  woman,"  was  his  reply,  "I  should  be  sur 
prised  at  such  a  question.  I  am  doing  what  I  think  best 
for  the  boy,  and  you  are  well  aware  that  my  mind  was 
long  since  made  up  about  the  different  systems  of  medi 
cine.  Do  you  confine  yourself  to  nursing  the  child, 
and  leave  his  treatment  to  me." 

Ah,  this  domestic  "making  up  one's  mind!"  It  is  a 
process  easily  and  often  rapidly  gone  through,  but  its 
consequences  are  sometimes  so  far-reaching  and  abiding, 
that  we  may  well  tremble  as  we  hear  the  words  care 
lessly  pronounced. 

After  a  period  of  intense  suffering,  James  Wilson  rose 
from  his  sick-bed,  but  he  had  lost  for  ever  the  use  of  the 
injured  lirnb ;  and  his  mother  could  not  but  feel  that  il 
was  in  consequence  of  the  ignorant  and  barbarous  treat 
ment  he  had  received.  But  remonstrance  was  vain ; 
the  law  of  the  Modes  and  Persians  was  not  more  unal 
terable  than  that  which  regulated  the  household  of  Mr. 
Wilson,  not  only  in  matters  of  consequence,  but  in  the 
smallest  details  of  domestic  economy. 

A  new  cooking  apparatus  had  long  been  needed  iu 
the  kitchen  of  Mr.  Wilson,  and  as  this  was  a  tnattci 


288  THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE. 

clearly  within  her  province,  his  wife  hoped  she  might  b<» 
able  to  procure  a  range  which  had  often  been  declared 
indispensable  by  htr  domestics.  But  in  this,  she  was 
doomed  to  be  disappointed.  Her  husband  remembered 
the  cooking-stove  which  had  been  the  admiration  of  his 
childhood,  arid  resolved,  if  a  change  must  be  made,  to 
have  one  of  that  identical  pattern  in  his  own  house. 

"  But  your  mother's  stove,  though  a  good  one  for  those 
days,"  said  Mrs.  Wilson,  "  was  one  of  the  first  invented, 
and  destitute  of  most  of  the  conveniences  which  now 
accompany  them.  It  consumed,  beside,  double  the 
amount  of  fuel  required  in  one  of  the  modern  stoves." 

"  What  an  absurd  idea !  A  stove  is  a  stove.  I  take 
it,  and  what  was  good  enough  for  my  mother  is  good 
enough  for  my  wife.  That  which  answered  all  the  pur 
poses  of  cooking  in  so  large  a  family  as  my  father's, 
might  suffice,  I  should  imagine,  in  our  small  one.  At 
any  rate,  I  choose  to  get  this  pattern,  and  therefore  no 
more  need  be  said  on  the  subject." 

It  was  nothing  to  Mr.  Wilson,  that  the  expenditure 
of  fuel,  and  time,  and  labour  was  so  greatly  increased 
by  his  arrangement — it  was  nothing  that  his  wife  was 
constantly  annoyed  by  complaints,  threats,  and  changes 
in  her  kitchen,  or  that  several  mortifying  failures  in  her 
cuisine  had  resulted  from  the  obstinate  refusal  of  the 
oven  to  bake — what  was  all  this  to  the  luxury  of  having 
his  own  way  in  his  own  house  ? 

But  the  pleasures  of  absolutism  are  not  unalloyed 
Mr.  Wilson,  like  other  despots,  was  obeyed  only  from 
necessity ;  and  whenever  an  opportunity  occurred  of 
cheating  him,  it  was  generally  improved.  His  wife  waa 


THREE   WAYS   OP   MANAGING   A   WIFE.  289 

a  quiet,  timid  woman,  with  no  pretensions  to  brilliancy 
of  intellect,  but  possessing  what  is  far  better,  good 
common  sense,  a  \varm  heart,  and  tastes  and  feelings 
thoroughly  domestic.  With  a  different  husband — one 
who  understood  her  disposition,  and  would  have  encou 
raged  her  to  rely  on  her  own  judgment,  and  to  act  with 
energy  and  efficiency,  she  would  have  made  a  useful  an«l 
happy  wife  and  mother ;  but  as  it  was,  neglected  and 
regarded  as  a  mere  household  drudge — with  all  her 
warm  affections  chilled  and  driven  back  upon  her  own 
heart — she  became  a  silent  schemer,  an  adroit  dissimu 
lator,  seeking  only  (in  self-defence  as  she  believed)  to 
carry  out  her  own  plans  as  often  as  possible,  in  spite  of 
her  lord  and  master. 

Mr.  Bennet,  the  neighbour  and  friend  of  Mr.  Wilson, 
was  shocked  at  the  petty  tyranny  he  evinced,  and 
thanked  his  stars  that  he  knew  better  than  to  follow 
such  an  example.  Though  so  long  accustomed  to  con 
sult  only  his  own  inclinations  (for  Mr.  Bennet  married 
late  in  life),  he  took  pleasure  in  referring  everything  to 
the  choice  of  his  amiable  companion,  only  reserving  to 
himself  the  privilege  of  the  veto,  that  indispensable 
requisite  to  a  proper  "  balance  of  power."  Let  us 
intrude  on  the  conjugal  tete-d-tete,  the  first  year  after 
marriage,  that  we  may  better  understand  the  IE  caning 
of  this  "reserved  right."  The  parties  were  about  to 
commence  housekeeping,  and  the  subject  under  conside 
ration  was  the  renting  of  a  house. 

"Which  of  those  houses  do  you  intend  to  take?" 
inquired  the  wife. 
19 


200  THREE    WAYS    OF    MANAGING    A    WIFE. 

"Just  which  you  prefer,  my  dear.  I  wish  you  to 
please  yourself  in  the  matter." 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  may  choose,  I  shall  say  the  cottage 
by  all  means — the  other  house  is  sadly  out  of  repair, 
much  larger  than  we  need,  and  will  require  so  much 
furniture  to  make  it  comfortable." 

"  I  am  rather  surprised  at  your  choice,  my  dear — the 
rooms  at  the  cottage  are  so  small,  and  those  in  the  other 
house  so  large  and  airy — do  as  you  please,  but  I  must 
Bay  I  am  surprised.  Such  nice  airy  rooms.' 

"  But  they  are  gloomy  and  dilapidated,  and  will 
require  so  much  expense  to  make  them  comfortable. 
Still,  if  you  prefer  them — " 

"  Oh,  that  is  nothing,  you  are  to  choose,  you  know, 
but  I  dislike  small,  confined  rooms,  and  the  cottage  is 
nothing  but  a  bird's-nest." 

"  Do  you  not  remember  how  we  used  to  admire  it 
when  Mrs.  Murray  lived  there?" 

"  Oh,  certainly,  certainly,  take  it  if  you  like;  but  the 
rooms  are  so  small,  and  I  never  can  breathe  in  a  small 
room.  Those  in  the  large  house  are  just  the  right  size, 
and  not  at  all  gloomy  in  my  eyes ;  but  of  course  do  as 
you  please.  I  rather  wonder  at  your  choice,  however." 

"  Well,  then,  what  do  you  say  to  the  new  house  on 
•the  hill  ?  That  is  neither  too  large  nor  too  small,  and 
it  is  such  a  convenient  distance  from  your  office;  besides 
the  giounds  are  delightful.  I  could  be  very  happy 
there." 

"  Really,  Mrs.  Bennet,  you  have  a  singular  taste. 
The  neighbourhood  is,  I  dare  say,  detestable,  arid  the 
dampness  of  the  walls,  the  smell  of  new  paint,  and  a 


THREE   WAYS    OP   MANAGING   A   WIFE.  2{?"l 

hundred  other  things,  wmld  be  hard  to  bear.  Notwith 
standing,  if  you  choose  the  new  house,  we  will  take  it ; 
but  the  rooms  in  the  other  tenement  are  so  large  and 
airy,  and  I  do  so  like  large  rooms — well,  what  do  you 
say  ?" 

With  a  suppressed  sigh,  the  young  wife  answered— 
•'  I  think,  on  the  whole,  we  had  better  take  the  large 
house." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  come  over  to  my  opinion !" 
was  the  husband's  exulting  exclamation ;  "  see  what  it 
is  to  have  a  sensible  wife,  and  an  accommodating  hus 
band  " 

The  large  house  was  taken,  and  various  were  the  dis 
comforts  experienced  by  Mrs.  Bennet  in  her  new  abode. 
The  chimneys  smoked,  the  rain  came  in  through  nume 
rous  crevices  in  the  roof,  and  the  wide  halls,  and  lofty 
apartments,  many  of  which  were  unfurnished,  struck  a 
chill  to  the  heart  of  the  lonely  wife,  who,  if  she  visited 
them  after  sunset,  trembled  at  the  sound  of  her  own 
footfalls  echoing  through  the  house.  But  she  made  few 
complaints,  and  Mr.  Bennet,  even  if  aware  of  some 
trifling  annoyances,  was  happy  in  the  consciousness  that 
he  had  magnanimously  submitted  to  his  wife  the  choice 
of  a  habitation.  Fortunately  for  him,  that  wife  was  a 
woman  of  sense,  firmness,  and  principle,  who  studied  her 
husband's  peculiarities  that  she  might  as  far  as  possible 
adapt  herself  to  them  ;  though,  it  must  be  confessed,  the 
attempt  was  often  fruitless,  and  she  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge  to  her  own  heart,  that  the  open  assump 
tion  of  authority  is  not  the  only  way  in  which  domestic 
despotism  manifests  itself. 


292  THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING    A   WIFE. 

"When  Mr.  Bennet  became  a  father,  in  the  first  gush 
of  parental  emotion  he  forgot  even  the  exercise  of  the 
veto,  in  reference  to  the  arrangements  for  the  comfort 
of  the  little  stranger,  so  that  for  a  few  weeks  the  happy 
mother  carried  out  her  own  plans  without  any  inter 
ference. 

"  Have  you  decided  on  a  name  for  this  dear  little 
girl  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bennet,  as  they  sat  together,  one  morn 
ing,  caressing  the  object  of  so  many  hopes,  and  of  so 
much  affection. 

"  I  wish  you  to  name  her,  my  dear,"  he  replied  ;  "  it 
Is  your  privilege  to  do  so." 

"  I  should  like  to  call  her  Mary,  if  you  have  no  ob 
jection — it  is  the  name  of  my  mother,  therefore  very 
dear  to  me." 

"Is  it  possible  you  can  like  that  common  name  so 
well  ?  For  my  part  I  am  tired  of  the  very  sight  and 
sound  of  it.  It  can  be  nicknamed,  too,  and  Molly,  you 
must  confess,  is  not  very  euphonious.  I  hoped  you  might 
choose  the  name  of  Ruth :  it  is  a  scriptural  name,  simple 
and  sweet." 

"  It  happens,  unfortunately,  to  be  one  I  particularly 
dislike,  but  as  you  do  not  like  Mary,  perhaps  we  can 
select  one  in  which  we  shall  both  agree.  What  do  you 
say  to  Martha  ?  It  is  our  sister's  name,  and  a  scriptural 
one  also,"  she  added,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh,  I  should  never  think  of  anything  but  Patty. 
Surely  you  could  select  a  better  name  than  that.  Ruth 
is  much  prettier — what  a  pity  you  do  not  like  it !  I  ad 
mire  it  greatly  ;  but  'my  taste  is  not  much.  Well,  please 
yourself,  only  I  am  sorry  you  cannot  fancy  Ruth." 


THREE   WAYS   OP   MANAGING   A   WIFK  293 

"  How  would  you  like  Lucy  ?  There  caii  be  no  objec 
tion  to  that  on  the  score  of  nicknames,  and  it  is  easily 
spoken." 

"Yes,  and  so  is  Polly,  if  that  were  all.  But  you 
must  think  of  some  other  name  beside  Lucy.  I  once 
knew  a  girl  of  that  name  who  was  my  perfect  aversion, 
and  she  has  spoiled  it  for  me.  Ruth  is  the  best  name, 
after  all,  pity  you  cannot  think  so.  But  choose  some 
thing  else,  if  you  please." 

Various  were  the  names  suggested  by  Mrs.  Bennet,  and 
rejected  by  her  husband,  some  on  one  ground,  and  some 
on  another,  still  with  tho  same  ending — "  I  wish  you 
could  like  Ruth" — until  wearied  by  the  discussion,  and 
hopeless  of  gaining  anything  by  its  continuance,  she 
replied  to  his  request  that  she  would  please  herself — 

"  Let  her  be  called  Ruth,  if  you  prefer  it." 

"  How  delighted  I  am  that  we  are  always  of  the  same 
opinion  at  last — it  quite  repays  me  for  the  concession 
some  might  imagine  me  to  make  in  submitting  these 
things  to  the  judgment  of  my  wife." 

As  years  passed  on,  and  matters  of  greater  importance 
came  up  for  decision,  Mrs.  Bennet  was  sometimes  com 
pelled  from  principle  to  abide  by  her  own  opinion,  though 
at  an  expense  of  personal  comfort  which  few  could  ap 
preciate.  She  had  yielded  so  long  and  so  often  to  the 
wearisome  pertinacity  of  her  husband,  that  when  she 
first  dared  to  do  what  he  had  always  boasted  of  permit 
ting,  he  could  hardly  credit  his  senses. 

"  Do  you  really  mean,"  he  inquired  one  day,  long  aftei 
the  scene  we  have  just  described,  "  to  forbid  young  Bar 
ton's  visiting  our  children  ?" 


291  THREE   WAYS   OP   MANAGING    A   WIFE. 

"  Did  you  not  tell  me  to  do  just  as  I  pleased  about 
it?" 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure — but  I  thought  you  would  of  course 
take  my  advice  about  it,  as  usual." 

"I  could  not,  because  I  know,  what  you  do  not,  that 
young  Barton  is  a  depraved  and  dangerous  character, 
and  Ruth  and  Harry  are  just  of  an  age  to  be  attracted 
by  the  false  glitter  of  his  external  advantages.  Where 
the  temporal  and  eternal  welfare  of  my  children  is  con 
cerned,  my  dear  husband,  you  must  allow  me  to  follow 
my  own  convictions  of  duty.  In  all  things  where  con 
science  is  not  concerned,  I  shall,  as  I  have  uniformly 
done,  yield  my  own  preference  and  wishes  to  yours." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Bennet  to  himself,  as  he  turned 
*way,  "  women  are  inexplicable  beings,  and  I  begin  to 
think  neighbour  Wilson's  way  of  managing  them  is  bet 
ter  than  mine,  after  all.  If  you  give  them  even  a  loop 
hole  to  creep  out  at,  they  will  be  sure,  sooner  or  later, 
to  rebel  openly,  and  set  up  for  themselves.  I  am  too  old 
to  change  now,  but  if  I  were  to  begin  life  again,  I  would 
manage  so  as  to  secure  submission  from  my  wife  on  all 
points.  It  is  the  only  way  to  preserve  domestic  har 
mony." 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a  love^  day  in  the  "  month  of 
roses,"  that  Robert  Manly  brought  his  youthful  bride 
to  their  own  pleasant  home,  and  for  the  first  time,  wel 
comed  her  as  its  mistress.  They  were  both  very  happy, 
for  young  love  shed  its  roseate  hues  over  all  around,  and 
they  had  just  spoken  those  solemn  words  which  bound 
them  to  each  other,  in  joy  and  sorrow,  sickness  and 
health,  prosperity  and  adversity,  till  separated  by  death. 


THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE.  295 

"  What  a  paradise  it  is !"  exclaimed  the  delighted 
Ellen ;  "  I  shall  want  nothing  on  earth,  but  the  occa 
sional  society  of  my  friends,  to  render  my  felicity  com 
plete." 

A  kiss  was  the  only  reply  of  the  husband,  as  he  gazed 
tenderly  on  the  bright  face  so  fondly  upturned  to  his 
own,  for  though  he  had  early  learned  the  sad  lesson  of 
which  she  was  yet  ignorant,  that  perfect  and  abiding 
happiness  is  not  the  growth  of  earth,  he  could  not  rudely 
dispel  her  dream  of  bliss,  by  reflections  that  must  havo 
seemed  unsuited  to  the  occasion.  Young  as  he  was, 
Robert  Manly  had  been  trained  in  the  school  of  adver 
sity,  and  its  stern  but  valuable  lessons  had  not  been 
thrown  away  upon  him.  The  only  son  of  his  mother, 
and  she  a  widow,  he  had  been  compelled,  almost  in  child 
hood,  to  depend  upon  his  own  exertions  for  support,  and, 
carefully  guarded  by  his  excellent  parent  from  evil  com 
panions  and  influences,  had  early  established  a  character 
for  energy  and  integrity,  which  was  worth  more  to  him 
than  thousands  of  gold  and  silver.  He  was  now  a  part 
ner  in  the  respectable  mercantile  firm  which  he  had 
first  entered  as  a  poor  and  friendless  clerk ;  and  was 
reaping  the  rich  reward  of  uprightness  and  honour,  in 
the  confidence  and  respect  of  all  with  whom  he  was  as 
sociated  in  business.  While  still  very  young,  he  formed 
an  attachment  for  the  daughter  of  his  employer,  a  lovely, 
dark-eyed  girl,  whose  sweet  voice  and  endearing  atten 
tions  to  the  lonely  boy  won  his  heart,  before  he  had 
thought  of  regarding  her  in  any  other  light  than  tlmt 
of  a  playful  and  engaging  child.  She  had  grown  up  to 
»-omanhood  at  his  side,  and  every  year  strengthened  the 


296  THREE   WAYS   OF    MANAGING    A    WIFE. 

tie  th-tt  bound  them  to  each  other,  though  he  could  not 
hut  feel  with  pain,  that  the  education  she  was  receiving 
was  far  from  being  a  useful  or  rational  one.  As  the 
youngest  of  a  large  family,  and  the  pet  and  plaything 
of  the  whole,  Ellen  was  trained  in  the  very  lap  of  luxury 
and  indulgence ;  and  her  lover  was  compelled  to  admit 
to  himself,  that  however  highly  educated,  amiable,  and 
accomplished  she  might  be,  she  was  wholly  ignorant  of 
many  things  pertaining  to  her  duties  as  the  mistress  of 
a  family.  To  his  mother,  the  dear  confidant  of  all  h'S 
joys  and  sorrows,  he  expressed  his  apprehensions  on 
this  subject. 

"Have  you  committed  yourself,  my  son?"  she  in- 
|uired. 

"  Certainly,  in  honour,  and  in  fact.  I  love  Ellen  with 
all  my  heart,  and  have  no  doubt  that  her  native  strength 
of  character,  and  affection  for  me,  will  make  her  all  I 
could  desire,  when  once  she  feels  the  necessity  for  ex 
ertion." 

'•Youth  is  always  sanguine,"  was  the  reply;  "how 
ever,  my  dear  boy,  from  my  heart  I  pray  that  your 
hopes  be  fulfilled.  I  regret  that  you  have  chosen  a  wife 
who  will  have  everything  to  learn  after  marriage,  but  the 
choice  is  made,  and  much  will  now  depend  on  yourself, 
as  regards  the  result.  You  will  find  that  deficiency  of 
knowledge  in  domestic  matters,  on  the  part  of  a  wife, 
materially  affects  the  comfort  and  happiness  of  her  hus 
band  ;  and  if,  on  feeling  this,  you  become  impatient  and 
ill-humoured,  this  will  discourage  and  alienate  her,  and 
the  almost  certain  loss  of  domestic  happiness  will  be  the 
consequence.  On  the  contrary,  kindness  and  encourage- 


THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE  297 

menfc  on  your  part,  if  she  is  what  you  think  her,  will  be 
a- constant  stimulus  to  exertion,  and  thus  in  time  all 
your  expectations  may  be  realized.  Fortunately,  you 
have  been  brought  up  by  an  old-fashioned  mother,  who 
believed  that  boys  might  be  made  useful  at  home,  and 
have  learned  much  that  will  be  of  advantage  to  you  both 
in  a  home  of  your  own.  Never  forget,  my  son,  that  a 
kind  expression  of  your  wishes  will  do  far  more  to  in 
fluence  the  conduct  of  a  woman  of  sense  who  loves  you, 
than  harshness  or  rebuke.  The  power  of  gentleness  is 
always  irresistible,  when  brought  to  bear  on  noble  and 
generous  minds." 

The  lesson  thus  given,  was  not  forgotten  or  disre 
garded.  Soon  after  his  marriage,  young  Manly  found 
that,  lovely,  accomplished,  and  intelligent  as  she  was, 
his  wife  was  wholly  incompetent  to  the  task  of  managing 
a  household  ;  and  when,  by  the  discharge  of  a  worthless 
servant,  they  were  for  the  first  time  left  alone,  her  per 
plexity  and  helplessness  would  have  been  ridiculous, 
had  not  the  subject  been  too  serious  to  be  thus  disposed 
of.  As  it  was,  he  lost  neither  his  spirits  nor  his  temper, 
but  cheerfully  and  hopefully  sought,  through  her  affec 
tions,  to  rouse  her  to  exertion. 

"  I  am  certain  there  is  nothing  about  the  house  you 
cannot  do  as  well  as  others,"  he  said  to  her  as  she  was 
lamenting  her  deficiencies,  "  if  you  will  only  make  the 
attempt;  and  the  plainest  food  would  be  far  sweeter  to 
me  prepared  by  my  wife,  than  the  most  costly  delicacies 
from  any  other  hand.  Our  united  skill  will,  I  have  no 
doubt,  prove  a  fair  substitute  for  the  help  we  have  lost, 
until  we  can  procure  more  valuable  assistance." 


298  THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A    WIFE. 

Thus  encouraged,  the  young  wife,  with  tears  and 
smiles  contending  on  her  sunny  face,  commenced  the 
work  of  practical  housekeeping,  and,  though  her  mistakes 
and  failures  were  almost  innumerable,  had  made  so  much 
progress  before  another  girl  was  found,  that  she  was 
deeply  interested  in  her  duties,  and  determined  to  under 
stand  them  thoroughly.  The  next  time  her  kitchen  was 
left  vacant  (for  in  our  country  these  things  are  con 
stantly  happening),  she  was  in  a  measure  independent, 
and  it  was  one  of  the  proudest  moments  of  her  life,  when 
she  placed  before  her  husband  bread  of  her  own  making, 
which  he  pronounced  the  most  delicious  he  had  ever 
eaten.  Let  not  my  young  readers  suppose  that  Mrs. 
Manly  sacrificed  any  part  of  her  refinement  by  becom 
ing  a  skilful  and  useful  housewife.  She  still  dearly 
loved  music,  and  drawing,  and  literature,  and  commu 
nion  with  cultivated  minds,  and  was  not  less  a  lady  in 
the  parlour  because  she  had  learned  the  uses  and  import 
ance  of  the  kitchen.  But  we  will  let  her  speak  for  her 
self,  of  the  change  wrought  in  her  habits  and  views,  in 
a  conversation  with  the  mother  of  her  beloved  Robert. 

"Will  you  not  now  come  to  us,"  she  said,  "and  take 
up  your  abode  with  us  permanently  ?  If  you  knew  how 
much  and  how  long  we  have  both  wished  it,  I  am  sure 
you  would  not  refuse." 

"I  do  know  it,  my  dear,"  replied  the  venerable 
matron,  "  but  I  have  hitherto  refused,  because  I  thought 
it  best  for  you  both,  to  learn  to  depend  on  your  own 
resources  aj  early  as  possible.  I  knew  too  that  a  young 
housekeepei,  to  whom  everything  is  strange  and  new, 


THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE.  299 

might  find  it  embarrassing  to  have  an  old  woman  in  so 
near  a  relation,  always  looking  on,  and  noticing  defects 
should  any  happen  to  exist.  I  have  therefore,  until 
now,  preferred  remaining  by  himself,  but  I  have  not 
been  estranged  from  you  in  heart.  I  have  watched  with 
the  most  intense  interest  your  whole  course  thus  far, 
and,  my  beloved  child,  1  can  no  longer  withhold  the 
meed  of  approbation  which  is  so  justly  your  due.  I  own, 
I  trembled  for  the  happiness  of  my  dear  son,  when  I 
learned  that  his  choice  had  fallen  on  a  fashionably- 
educated  young  lady  like  yourself,  but  I  knew  not  as 
he  did,  the  sterling  worth  of  character  concealed  beneath 
that  glittering  exterior.  T^o  Ood  of  his  fathers  has 
indeed  been  gracious  to  mm,  in  giving  him  a  treasure 
whose  price  is  above  rubies,  even  a  virtuous  woman,  in 
whom  his  heart  can  safely  trust/' 

"  Oh,  my  dear  mother.'"'  exclaimed  the  young  wile, 
while  tears  choked  her  ucierauco,  "you  would  not  say 
so  if  you  knew  all — if  you  knew  how  entirely  I  owe 
everything  that  I  now  am,  and  all  my  present  happi 
ness,  to  the  generous  forbearance,  the  delicate  kindness 
of  my  beloved  husband.  He  has  borne  with  my  igno 
rance  and  helplessness,  encouraged  my  first  miserable 
attempts  to  do  right,  and  soothed  and  praised  me  when 
ready  to  despair  of  ever  becoming  what  I  ought  to  be. 
He  has  taught  me  that  the  true  end  and  aim  of  life  is 
not  to  seek  my  own  enjoyment,  but  the  good  of  others, 
and  the  glory  of  my  Father  in  Heaven.  From  my  in 
most  soul  I  thank  you  for  training  up  such  a  son  and 
Buch  a  husband,  and  earnestly  pray  that  I  may  be 


300  THREE   WAYS   OF   MANAGING   A   WIFE. 

enabled  so  to  guide  my  own  darling  boy,  that  some 
heart  may  thus  be  blessed  by  my  exertions,  as  mine  has 
been  by  your  maternal  care  and  faithfulness,  for  my 
own  experience  has  convinced  me  that  the  training  of 
the  boy  has  far  more  to  do  with  forming  the  character 
of  the  husband,  than  all  other  influences  combined." 


*B*  BVB, 


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